Spiral
by JMNY8
Summary: After the events of 2x17, this follows Charlie and crew as they take on the Patriots. Jason Neville says he wants to help, but will his Patriot brainwashing get in the way? Can Charlie handle the endless bloodshed, her difficult family, and the new burden of command? Eventual Charloe.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I own nothing from Revolution.

Author's Note: I usually don't explain my fics beforehand, but what the hell. Season 1 I was a huge Jarlie shipper- I thought that they were just so adorable together. Season 2 happened and I got hit with the Charloe stick (HARD). That being said, I still feel like Charlie would need to face her history with Jason before she got with Monroe… So that's what I'm hoping to bring you! It's not fully formed in my head yet, so I can't guarantee exactly where this'll go, but I'll cross my fingers and see where this goes…

xxxxx

Charlie had been trying to settle an argument between her mother and Monroe when it happened. Actually, she had no interest in settling the argument, but she desperately wanted to break it up. Partially because they were drawing attention throughout the camp and partially because she couldn't stand to hear what they were saying— most of all, she couldn't stand the fact that lately she believed what Monroe was saying was right.

xxxxx

_Earlier…_

"They were just children, Bass! I grew up with their families, and you just slaughtered them! There's no way to justify—"

"I'm not looking to justify anything, Rachel. There's no justification, it's just war. And if it wasn't them, it'd be us."

He leaned in closer, his blue eyes flashing with menace. Anyone who didn't know him would have been frightened by that look- most people who did know him would be downright terrified. Rachel, on the other hand, had suffered through Bass's temper when he was at his very worst. She had seen firsthand how his grip on sanity loosened. She was his captive when it was particularly bad. Because of that, she took everything he threw at her whenever he got it in his head to blame Rachel for everything going wrong with his Republic- something that happened more often than either of them were willing to speak of.

He fancied himself a gentleman, even then. He never touched her inappropriately, or put her through the kinds of tortures other prisoners experienced. She was his guest, he would say. Out of affection for her, loyalty to Miles… He would go on about how virtuous he was being, but she could see the rage simmering just below his cold, polite mask. The moments when he would truly snap were rare, but Rachel had experienced them herself. At times she could still feel his hand around her throat as he brought her close to whisper threateningly in her ear. She wasn't sure, even now, how close he had actually gotten to killing her. It wasn't exactly something they talked about.

Rachel tore herself out of the past as Bass continued speaking, in hushed tones. The lower volume was a warning sign for her—when Bass was losing control, he gave the appearance of just the opposite. When he was out of his mind with grief or rage, he was predictable. When his words were low and even, that was when it was time to panic. She knew exactly what he was capable of, but Rachel had given up being afraid of Monroe some time ago.

"But most importantly, I don't need to listen to your bullshit any more, Rachel. Look around. I've got two dozen men under my command. I don't need to put up with your sobbing to get shit done anymore."

Bass started to move away, but Rachel spoke up, unwilling to let him have the last word.

"You don't have all of them."

As he paused, she expected to see his eyes flashing back at her with the usual malice. Instead, he looked around the camp appraisingly.

It was true- despite the reappearance of the clan and news of Duncan's demise, Charlie's men were still loyal to her. They seemed to respect her, though Rachel had to admit she was a bit hesitant to ask why. She had seen her daughter fight as of late- she saw the coldness that had crept into her eyes, a bit more every day. Rachel saw so much of herself, of who she had become in her daughter. It terrified her to think what Charlie could have done to earn the respect of these battle-hardened clan members.

Monroe turned back to her and nodded slightly.

"Gotta admit, I was surprised about that." He chuckled a bit before continuing, practically whispering, "Shouldn't have been, though." He returned to his previous volume, though his voice was still low and even. "With or without them, Rachel, point remains. You don't want to be involved in this, pack up and go. Maybe you can track down StayPuft and work your damn brain trust at taking down these sons of bitches- in your kind and polite way."

That one stung more than he could have realized. The only reason she had gotten involved in any of this started because she was trying to keep killing out of war. Though she initially objected to getting involved with the nanotech project, Ben and the group swayed her by appealing to her patriotism and maternal instinct—though they didn't realize how many nights she couldn't sleep, wondering if anyone in particular was being shot at halfway around the world.

Gone were the polite, indoor voices. "Dammit, Bass! There is no reason you have to go to such extremes! I wasn't asking for anything drastic- just to wait until Miles came back. Instead, you got my father SHOT!"

Bass refrained from rolling his eyes. He knew she still blamed him and him alone for the death of Danny and perhaps Ben as well; now she was well on her way to citing him as the cause for every injury a member of her family endured.

"Jesus Christ Rachel, are you kidding me? We went when we were ready. We won. It's over. And a group this size, they could have found us any minute. We had to get them before they got us."

xxxxx

As the argument first started growing heat, Charlie was further into the camp, sparring with one of Duncan's guys. She hadn't caught this particular mercenary's name yet, but he seemed to be in charge of Duncan's clan when they first arrived, and he certainly seemed to have caught an eye for her. They were exchanging quips and jabs in the makeshift sparring ring—there were a few times Charlie would normally have gone in and finished it, but she toyed with him a bit; she told herself she wanted to see what he could do. After the second time the merc called her sweetheart, she heard her mother's voice shouting Bass's name, and figured that was the perfect time to end things.

The merc shoved Charlie lightly. Instead of playfully fighting back as she had been, she let herself drop to the ground and swiftly swept her legs under his. Before he could react, she was straddling his stomach. Quickly she pinned his wrists down with one hand, then used the other to put her blade to his throat. He could have easily removed her hold on him, probably thrown her off of him entirely, but his eyes were on the knife which he knew she hadn't been holding just a second ago.

"Don't call me sweetheart." She said, flashing him a glare that him holding back a gulp. She held him there for a second before she smirked down at him, the ice in her gaze gone in that instant. She quickly rose up and reached out to help the blonde man to his feet.

"Guess we're done here." She said as she walked off toward her mother and Monroe's growing scene.

"I'm gonna want a rematch!"

Charlie paused and turned around. He was wearing one of the biggest shit-eating smirks she had ever seen. She couldn't help but chuckle as she nodded back at him. With a quick wave, she was off again, this time at a quicker pace. She was pretty sure she could tell where the other man's eyes were as she made her way through the camp, but she chose haste in favor of her usual threats.

"—we had to get them before they got us."

Not this again. It had been three days, and Rachel couldn't just drop it and move on. Well, that wasn't so surprising—Charlie certainly came by her own stubbornness honestly, and not only from the Matheson side of the family. However, there was nothing new to be added to this argument, and going in circles would get them nowhere.

"Mom? Look I know that you're not happy with how things happened, and I wish there was another way too, but we're fighting an enemy with— what the hell?"

Bass and Rachel turned to see what Charlie was reacting to. At the edge of camp Connor was walking up. Behind him was Jason Neville, holding a gun carefully on him.

xxxxx

Any suggestions or criticisms are greatly appreciated!


	2. Chapter 2

A bit of a crowd had gathered at the edge of camp where Jason was holding Connor. A few people had their hands on guns or swords, but there was no real sense of urgency- they weren't sure what the situation was, and though Connor was given a leadership position, he wasn't a part of the clan, so most weren't willing to go the extra mile for him quite yet. He also wasn't inspiring much confidence right now- he was unarmed, holding his hands up slightly, a petulant look on his face.

As he saw Charlie and his father looking towards him, he knew he had to try something- prove that he wasn't the weakest link in the group. No one had said it, of course, but it was there in the subtext.

During the fight, Bass had made it clear that Connor should stick to him like glue. It was flattering, being the one Sebastian Monroe trusted enough to have his back- his blind spot as well. Until the fighting really got underway. When it was clear they had to split up, Bass went off on his own and told Connor to stick to Charlie. It never escaped Connor's notice that Monroe had no qualms sending Charlie in on her own. He quickly learned why Monroe was right to be unconcerned- Connor hadn't seen truly seen Charlie fight until that moment in the armory tent. She was fluid, graceful, powerful, lethal—God, she was one beautiful killing machine. He thought he recognized some of his own father's signature swordplay in her movements, which is when it hit him- everyone but him knew from moment one that Charlie was a far better warrior than he could ever hope to be. She was several years his junior, and a women no less, but she was fearless and deadly. He had never met anyone like her—never knew that someone like her could exist.

Now was Connor's chance to prove he wasn't the dead weight of the group. This kid had a gun on him, but now he was at his most vulnerable—surrounded by Connor's camp on almost all sides, his attention on the audience more than his captive.

Connor tensed, preparing to make his move. He slid to one side and struck out an elbow, trying to at least loosen the other man's hold. Unbeknownst to him, Jason was more attentive than he appeared. He saw the instant Connor was prepared to move, and had absolutely no trouble blocking the blow. After a slight scuffle- if you could even call it that- Jason tightened his hold on Connor and shifted them both a couple steps forward, with Connor now sporting the beginnings of a black eye.

Jason had seen Charlie the second they stepped out of the bushes, just an instant before she caught sight of the two men. No matter how much time had gone by, one thing hadn't changed- his eyes would automatically find her before they registered anything else. It was like some sort of magnetism or gravity, some undefinable pull that first started tugging at him when they met by a small lake several days' walk outside of Chicago.

Jason moved with his hostage toward Charlie, noticing she was being flanked on either side by Monroe and Rachel. A few of the men from the camp also moved toward them, a couple taking what seemed to be defensive positions near Charlie. Jason wasn't surprised—he didn't see Miles anywhere, and figured the men had been left with explicit instructions to protect Charlie at all costs. Jason stopped his approach, keeping his hostage close.

"I don't want to hurt anyone, Charlie."

Charlie knew there were many eyes on her- those of the two Monroe men, certainly. Still, she ignored them as she let her eyes slowly and obviously travel down Jason's figure. He felt himself come alive under her gaze—she was practically undressing him with her eyes. As her perusal moved upward once more, she shifted to look at Connor. When they made eye contact, she allowed the smallest of smirks to grace her features before looking back at her ex.

Jason frowned at the exchange. He had caught her moment looking at the man he held captive, and he was pretty sure he had a hint of what some of it meant—and he did not like it one bit. Judging by how Connor stiffened before him, he wasn't a fan of what he saw, either.

"You've always had a hell of a way of showing it, Jason." Her eyebrow was arched, her head tilted in a way he was all too familiar with. Gone was the smirk, replaced by the frown she used when she was trying to figure out whose side Jason was really on. He wished he didn't have to be so familiar with that frown.

Jason's lips turned down as he used his free hand to shove Connor away, still keeping his gun pointed at him.

Connor stumbled forward a couple steps before shooting a quick glare back at Jason. As he walked back to his group, his eyes were on Charlie. He was a bit confused, but mostly disappointed. This was the second time this guy had gotten the drop on him, and the second time he had to wonder about his history with his woman. Not that Charlie would ever consent to calling herself his woman. Though there had been a few flirty glances and heated exchanges, she hadn't let him so much as touch her since the night in New Vegas. Even the few suggestive interactions they had weren't all that common—in fact, Connor noticed that almost all of them seemed to happen within sight of Monroe. And now he had to watch her practically eye-fucking this pretty little soldier boy—Connor didn't like it one bit.

As Connor took his place standing by Monroe, Jason had continued his approach, slowly but surely as he lowered his gun. He got close enough that he didn't have to raise his voice.

"I just want to talk to Miles. Here." Jason handed his gun to Charlie. She hesitated a moment before taking it, brushing against his hand in the process. His breath stuttered ever so slightly—enough to catch the attention of the senior Monroe, but he quickly tamped it down. Charlie seemed largely unaffected as she tucked Jason's gun in the back of her jeans. She turned around to the merc closest to her. Vincent was easily the most protective of her men, though he had previously expressed his loyalty to her largely by sneering at Monroe at every available moment (something that never failed to make her smirk). He approached at her look.

"Why don't you show Lieutenant Neville to some of our fine accommodations?"

As Vincent moved to take Jason away, Charlie continued.

"Check him for extra weapons, and use rope. He's actually pretty good at getting himself out of cuffs." Charlie smirked slightly as she walked away, brushing lightly against both Jason and Monroe as she made her way toward the tent they had set up as a Command Centre.

Jason was suddenly met with the coldest glare he had ever seen. A pair of blue eyes looked so much like Charlie's, but with a hardness Charlie herself had never shown, at least to him. No, this glare was pure Rachel. As Charlie's parting words registered, Jason realized reason for Rachel's ice-cold gaze. Crap.

"Um… She chained me to a pole back when I was tracking them. Took me a couple days to get out."

Rachel's eyes narrowed before she turned on her heel and went the same direction as Charlie. Vincent grabbed Jason roughly by the arm and dragged him to the far end of camp.

xxxxx

"Who the hell was that guy? You all seemed to know him pretty well." Connor kept his real thoughts to himself—Charlie was the one who seemed to know his captor particularly well. Intimately, if that look she gave him was anything to go by. Connor didn't like how blatantly Charlie had checked the other man out, but what really threw him was the look she gave him. He couldn't read her very well, but that particular look seemed pretty apparent- 'I can do better'. Ever since Miles had outed his and Monroe's plans for a Republic 2.0, Charlie had made it known that she was less than thrilled at the prospect, and at him in particular.

Monroe frowned slightly, glancing at Vincent and Jason heading away. Connor was still largely unaware of the exact details of Monroe's history with the Matheson family, and Monroe himself was unsure of exactly what Jason Neville's relationship with the group was once he left the militia. Vague was all he could offer.

"Jason Neville. He used to be one of my Lieutenants. Defected a while back."

Connor's frown grew at this. "So he's a traitor, and he just had a gun on me? Why haven't we killed the son of a bitch?"

Monroe couldn't help but snort at the kid's words- 'son of a bitch'. He had no idea how right he was, that Julia Neville was certainly a piece of work. The woman didn't just try flirting with him at a presidential event, attempting to ingratiate herself however she could; she had the audacity to do it in front of both Monroe's date and her own husband. Bass may not have given her the nickname of Lady Macbeth, but he sure as hell thought it fit.

"In my experience, the Nevilles will stab you in the back as soon as look at you, but if you can get one on your side they are damn useful in a pinch. At least, senior was handy. Jason was always more dependable, right until he wasn't."

"Why'd he defect?"

Monroe paused. He had his suspicions, especially after the looks those two exchanged (no, he certainly hadn't missed the way Charlie had just looked at Jason), but he knew they wouldn't sit right with his kid. Hell, they didn't sit right with him, for reasons he tried very hard not to contemplate too much.

"Didn't like his orders, I guess. Anyway, it's probably worth hearing what he has to say. He and his old man did manage to infiltrate the Patriots for a while."

xxxxx

In the Command tent, Rachel was standing off to the side. Charlie had been in conversation with one of the clansmen when she entered. Though they were quickly finished, Charlie made no move to acknowledge her mother. Instead, she turned to the table in the middle where a map of Austin was laid out. After silently staring for a minute or two, Charlie spoke.

"Miles should be back from scouting any minute now." She turned to face her mother. "I want to be there, tell him Jason's here. Mom, I know you're not happy with how things are going. But please, can you just stay away from Monroe until I get back?"

Rachel allowed a soft smile. She remembered a similar conversation they had, just over a year ago. "I promise I will try to control myself."

Charlie remembered the last time Rachel uttered those words—when Neville Senior had been the one they were holding prisoner. She, too, smiled ever so slightly. Charlie nodded before she headed out of the tent. As she passed by her mother, Rachel reached out to grab her shoulder. Charlie paused, turning fully toward her. Rachel smoothed her daughter's hair, looking as though she wanted to say something. Before she could get the words out, she sighed and with one last comforting grip on her shoulder, left.

xxxxx

The camp was still within sight when Charlie saw someone approach on horseback. She figured it was probably Miles, but took precautions anyway. Even if it was Miles, if she didn't treat him as potentially hostile she'd just get an earful anyway. She was going to hide behind a tree when she noticed how low some of the branches were. With another peek down the road, she could make out her uncle's distinctly spikey brown hair. Charlie smirked before she started to climb the tree.

Miles was making his way at a slow pace, trying to save the horse's energy. It was very likely they would have to pack up and move any minute now, so he wanted to keep the beast well-rested. As he passed below a particularly shady part of the path, both he and the horse were jerked to full attention by an additional weight suddenly present on the saddle behind him.

A hand covered his as he quickly reached for his sword.

"You're losing your touch, old man."

Miles turned to see Charlie smirking back at him. While he was a bit impressed she managed to get the drop on him—and impressed she'd managed to land so well on the horse—he didn't let his amusement show.

"Dammit, Charlie, I could have sliced you in half."

Charlie was not to be dissuaded by his tone—on the contrary, over the past couple years she'd grown to find his gruff manner endearing.

"You could have tried." Miles had to hand it to her, Charlie was no longer the scared little girl who first came to find him in Chicago; she had turned into a warrior of her own right. She was more than just well-trained, she was motivated and fearless. She was so much like him, and it terrified him. And it occasionally forced him to wonder—but no, the past was the past.

"What are you doing all the way out here, kid?"

Charlie's smirk turned into a genuine smile. Anyone else tried calling her kid and she'd put them well in their place—a lesson Monroe had learned quickly. But Miles always had a free pass. She never admitted it out loud, but they both knew how much she appreciated their special bond.

"Well, we had a bit of excitement. Jason Neville showed up."

The small sliver of a smile Miles had allowed just for his niece was gone in an instant.

"What, back to make moon eyes at you again? Or is he just trying to kill us this time? It's hard to keep track."

Charlie lightly smacked Mile's back at his first comment, but she had to admit, the younger Neville's actions weren't always easy to predict. Back at the tower, he and his father had guns trained on their group—relations hadn't improved in the intervening time.

"Actually, he says he wants to talk to you. I have one of my guys watching over him now."

Miles rolled his eyes when she mentioned her men. Both he and Bass tended to do that whenever Charlie mentioned her newfound power, though she was careful not to do so often. She knew Miles was somewhat proud of her, but that he worried about her proximity to all the violence and tough choices. She assumed Bass' issues stemmed from the fact that Duncan had favored her with the men instead of him, though there were times when even he seemed like he might be impressed—or something. He used to be fairly easy for her to read, but he had been closing himself off more and more, starting around the time Connor arrived. Maybe a bit later—but she wouldn't think about that right now.

Miles had urged the horse to go just a bit faster the second he heard the name Jason Neville, and the two were quickly approaching the camp.

"Did he say what he wanted?"

"No—he just held Connor at gunpoint for a bit before he turned himself in."

Miles had to admit the mental image was not unappealing. Though he had more than his fair share of issues with each of the Neville men, he didn't mind hearing about Connor being put in his place. Miles had overheard tiny bit of a fairly disturbing conversation between Rachel and Gene regarding the Monroe heir and his relationship with Charlie. Those words may have somewhat influenced his decision to make the Monroe pair's plans for a new Republic known to the rest of the group. He certainly wasn't disappointed to see the wedge that seemed to form between the two youths.

As Miles pondered the turn of events, they had arrived back at camp. They both quickly dismounted and Miles handed the reins to one of the clansmen. Charlie had started toward a tent close to the edge of camp. After giving instructions to have the horse fed and rested, Miles quickly caught up with her. She pointed out the tent he was being kept. Outside there was a man on either side. One of them nodded at them as they approached. They went inside to find Vincent coldly staring Jason down. Jason seemed only too happy to return the favor, though the second Miles and Charlie entered they had his full attention.

Miles waved Vincent out (though he noted the man looked to Charlie before actually complying), and pulled a metal chair, identical to the one Jason was tightly bound to, into the center of the room across from him. Charlie remained where she was, hands on her hips. Instead of sitting down, Miles leaned on the back of the chair, leering down at Jason.

"Alright, Nipples. Start talking."

xxxxx

Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who reviewed— as always, suggestions and critique are wholeheartedly encouraged!


	3. Chapter 3

When Jason Neville first enlisted in the militia, he met General Miles Matheson exactly once over the course of his training. Though he was only 16, the experience wasn't tinted by youth. As a commander, Miles instilled fear and no small amount of respect in his soldiers. As the uncle of the girl he used to date? Miles was downright terrifying. Back when they travelled together, Miles had made it clear on several occasions that he was keeping a close eye on him—he and Charlie hadn't even started dating (or whatever you would call a post-apocalyptic relationship like theirs) when Miles was giving him 'the look'. However, they both knew that keeping Charlie safe was priority number one, and that limited the amount of times they were forced to butt heads somewhat.

Now, Miles had no idea where Jason's loyalties lie, so he wasn't about to pull any punches. But the way Jason had looked at Charlie—well, some things just never change. Except Jason looked hesitant, almost apologetic.

"Miles, I wanted to talk to you… Alone." His eyes turned to Charlie, pleading gently. "Charlie… Please."

A wrinkle formed in Charlie's brow as she frowned. Seeing the look of near-desperation on their captive's face, she softened slightly. No matter how much they hurt each other, it would seem that the soft spot between them was at least somewhat mutual. Charlie looked over to Miles for confirmation before exiting the tent.

As soon as she had departed, Miles turned back to Jason.

"Alright kid, what the hell do you want?"

Kid, Nipples—it was as though Miles was physically incapable of saying his name.

"I want to help."

Before Jason had a chance to continue, Miles scoffed.

"So, you're singing that tune again? I've heard it on repeat too many times, kid. I'm not falling for it, and I don't think even Charlie will believe you now."

Jason ignored the sting of the last comment and pressed on.

"Miles, wait. I—I can prove it. Just, please, hear me out."

Miles was still skeptical, but remained where he was.

"I don't know how much you know about the training camps—"

"Enough. Training, brainwashing, they do a full service job there."

"So you know about the triggers?"

Miles paused, realizing the kid may actually have intel worth getting.

"Yeah. Say the magic number, recruit goes crazy and starts trying to kill everything."

Jason's eyes widened. His own experience had been different—or so he was told. He honestly knew nothing about what had been done to him, and the thought that he could have spent entire blocks of time doing nothing but killing… what he already knew of his own actions was hard enough to bear, but this on top—he swallowed back the bile growing in his throat and continued.

"Not just that. They'll blindly follow any and every command a Patriot superior gives them. And when it's all over… They don't remember." He looked up at Miles. "We don't remember."

Miles' eyes widened as Jason's words reached him. He looked at him warily.

"Right eye. Go ahead, just… Don't say it."

Miles stepped forward and pulled down Jason's lower lid. He looked at the serial number tattooed there, shocked. He hadn't realized—if Jason was eligible for the brainwashing special of the day, they could get Charlie with it, too. It was honestly more comforting to think that they were all twelve years old. Charlie was safer then.

"Miles, I meant it. I want to help. I have—I think I might have intel."

Miles did not like the sound of that. "You think?"

"I'll tell you everything I know, you know I will. I just—there's a chance I might have learned something while—I might have forgotten some of it."

They both sat in silence a minute, letting it all sink in.

"You want us to trigger you."

Jason let out a dark chuckle. "I wouldn't say it's something I want." He grew more serious, "But I'm willing to do it. If you think it will help. Thing is, I want to ask for something in return. Two things, actually."

Miles didn't say anything, but looked over so the boy would know he was listening.

"If I get free—or if the Patriots trigger me or something…" he took a deep breath, "Don't let me hurt anyone. Do whatever you have to, just… Don't let me be a weapon. Not for them."

Miles nodded, a flicker of respect for the younger man flaring up. There were times when Jason (and Charlie too, in the early days) tended to take the whole 'honor above reason' thing a bit far, but the kid had his heart in the right place. And speaking of his heart… "What's the other condition?"

Jason's eyes closed and he looked down, a pained expression on his face. His voice lowered to where Miles almost had to strain to hear it.

"When I'm triggered… Please… Don't let her see me like that." He looked up, the very image of the tormented man. "Miles, I know you're not my biggest fan—hell I know that she's not too crazy about me right now, but I'm begging you. Just let me keep that one shred of dignity."

Miles realized just how much this was costing Jason. He was literally putting his life in their hands, and offering to completely turn over all control he had over himself, just to help them. Whether it was a desire to do the right thing, or again because he just couldn't stop trying to protect Charlie, Jason was willing to go to some pretty great lengths for their cause. Miles had to respect that, which only made him like the boy less. Finding things to admire about Jason Neville always put him in a bad mood.

"Gotta think this whole thing over a bit, but I'll have someone send in food and water for you soon."

Miles exited the tent to find that the man on guard had been replaced by Charlie. She wouldn't look at him, which was all the proof he needed to tell that the fabric barrier of the allowed her to hear everything. He sighed. She had been through a lot—he had put her through a lot—and now he was going to ask even more of her.

"C'mon. Get someone else to guard, we've gotta talk to the others."

xxxxx

Charlie assigned one of her men to get water and dinner for Jason, then watch over him. By the time she met up with Miles in the command tent, he had been joined by Bass, Rachel, and Connor. She was somewhat surprised that Miles had waited for her to return before starting to brief everyone else—it had felt lately that her input was less desired, Miles had been turning to either Rachel or Bass instead of hearing her opinions.

"So we've got Neville Junior tied up in one of the far tents—"

A twisted smirk appeared on Connor's features. "Good. I was hoping to have a bit of a chat with him, seems like the perfect opportunity."

Charlie didn't bother trying to hide her snort of derision.

"Beating up a guy who's tied up and helpless? You know, honestly, that's probably the only way he won't take you down. Again. So why don't you go for it, junior?"

As she spoke, Charlie had moved from her end of the table toward where Connor was standing. Though he had a solid four or five inches on her, he had never felt smaller. Her eyes were flashing at him, not even a trace of amusement on her face. After a tense moment, Miles cleared his throat. Charlie tossed one more glare toward Connor as she returned to her place across the table from Miles. She nodded, asking her uncle to continue. As he spoke, she let her eyes travel across the map on the table before them, unable to handle eye contact at that moment.

Miles filled them in on some of what Jason said—he had been in a training camp, he wanted to help, he was willing to allow himself be triggered an questioned if it could help. When Miles finished explaining the situation (though he hadn't mentioned the boy's conditions), a silence fell upon the group. Connor was the first to break it.

"Why the hell would he want to help? Weren't they trying to kill us just a week ago?"

Miles laughed, "Yeah, well, that's pretty typical for the Nevilles. As for why he would want to help…" Miles drifted off. He was looking at Charlie, who had her gaze firmly fixed on the map.

Monroe caught Miles' look. "Maybe he wants to help out for the same reason he left the militia in the first place." At this, he too cast his eyes on Charlie, who finally reacted. She narrowed her eyes at him and tilted her head slightly, challenging him to continue. Monroe countered her stare with a quirk of his brow. When she didn't react further, he turned to Miles.

"Forget about the why for now. Do you think it'll work?"

Miles sighed, leaning on the table. "No way to know. It's a big risk, and we don't really know what we're up against with that whole brainwashing bullshit. Getting any information…if it's even possible, it won't be easy." He shrugged at Bass, silently asking for his opinion. Before this can happen, Rachel chimes in.

"Well go on, Bass, let's hear it. Doesn't matter what the cost is, now's gotta be the time for torture and killing, huh?"

Charlie and Miles both tense up, ready to jump in and quash whatever explosion might happen but Monroe beats them to the punch.

"No." All eyes are on him, shocked. "Kid asked to talk to Miles, but he turned himself in to Charlie. It's her guys guarding him." He turned to the object of his speech. "You're off the bench now, kid. Welcome to the big leagues."

She narrowed her eyes when he called her kid, and didn't understand what bench he was talking about, but she got the idea. He was leaving the decision up to her. They both knew it was no kindness he was bestowing upon her, but it did show a modicum of respect. Maybe he was trying to test her. She didn't know. Frankly, she didn't care. There only seemed to be one option, as unappealing as it sounded.

"Yeah. We've gotta try."

Rachel looked disappointed at her daughter's acquiescence, but was more concerned than anything. Charlie hadn't exactly been particularly emotive of late, but she had withdrawn into herself now more than ever. Rachel hadn't been around for most of Jason and Charlie's time together, but what little she saw seemed quite obvious. This boy had once meant something to Charlie, and now she was signing off on his torture.

Charlie gave off one last sigh before squaring her shoulders slightly and focusing on what was at hand.

"We know it's not going to be easy, but we can at least try to put the odds in our favor. Miles, you and Monroe should probably handle that. I'll be… I don't know, hunting."

Monroe paused, thinking she'd want to personally handle them if she thought things were getting out of hand. Either she was starting to trust him more, or…

"You don't want to be th-"

"No." Instead of turning to Monroe she looked Miles in the eye, nodding. "That's the deal."

With no further explanation, she left.

Monroe looked quizzically back at Miles. He sighed, a bit mad at Charlie for making him be the one to deal with explaining all their bullshit.

"Kid had a condition to working with us. Charlie wouldn't be there when he went all Manchurian."

Monroe and Rachel seemed to accept this as an explanation, but Connor was even more confused, and not just at yet another pre-blackout reference.

"But why would that be—"

"Oh God I am not dealing with the drama! I'm going in to talk to Nipples." Halfway out of the tent, he paused. Miles rolled his eyes before turning to Bass.

"Wait, like… Ten minutes."

He sighed and went to find Charlie to give her time to talk to Jason herself… Unless she was already in there.

Monroe sighed and put his arm around Connor's shoulders, leading him out of the tent and in the opposite direction of Miles and Jason as he attempted to explain the Charlie-Jason situation in as little detail as possible, honestly grateful he didn't know all the much about it in the first place.

xxxxx

Author's note: So there you go, chapter three! Next chapter or two might have some Jarlie tones to them, but don't worry, this is still ultimately going to be a Charloe fic.

Just two days till the next episode—who do you think they're killing off? My money's on Jason or Gene… Although with the nanites around there's no reason why anyone's death has to be permanent. (Here's looking at you, Aaron!)


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note: Ok guys, there is a bit of something possibly resembling Jarlie in this chapter—it's short and sweet and will probably be the only Jarlie action in this story.

xxxxx

Just as Miles approached Jason's tent, he found one of the mercenaries was exiting it, confirming his suspicion that Charlie was with in there. Miles sighed and decided to give them the ten minutes he had asked Bass for, though it left somewhat of a sour taste in his mouth. He stayed far enough away to not be eavesdropping, but kept the tent within sight as he pretended to observe a few of the men training—sparring, really, it appeared to be for enjoyment more than any educational purpose.

xxxxx

Inside the tent, Jason and Charlie were tensely looking at each other. Their first reunion wasn't how he had pictured it—with Charlie unceremoniously knocking him out before he could get two words in. This second time around wasn't shaping up to be much better. Charlie pulled out a knife and Jason had to wonder if this would be their last reunion. He was slightly surprised when she used the knife to pry loose the knots binding him. She slipped the knife back in its sheath as he pulled the ropes off and stood.

It had been a full minute and still neither had spoken. The thought that this could very well be one of the last times they saw each other was at the forefront of Jason's mind. When he couldn't stand the loaded silence anymore, he reached out and forcefully pulled Charlie to him, wrapping her in a hug.

She acquiesced quickly, allowing him to envelop her. More slowly she actually responded, freeing her arms from between them so she could wrap them around his firm torso. She had forgotten how warm he was, how safe she could feel in his embrace.

"I missed you." It was barely more than a whisper, but as his lips had found their way next to her ear, Charlie heard him clear as day. She had no idea how to respond. The girl who Jason missed—that wasn't her anymore.

"Me, too." She didn't voice the double meaning behind the statement. Charlie had genuinely missed Jason from time to time, but moreover she agreed with him- she missed the old Charlie, too. But Jason had no idea that the old Charlie was dead and gone. She didn't want to upset him with the news when he already had so much to deal with, so she was content to leave it at that and spend a few more stolen moments with him, almost able to pretend things weren't so horrible.

After several minutes of stillness, enjoying being close again, Jason pulled away to look at Charlie. His hand reached up to smooth over her hair before it found its way to the side of her face. As his thumb stroked her cheek, their eyes met. Charlie smiled softly, as she would have done before, and let her eyes fall closed as she leaned up. Wasting no time, Jason leaned down to allow his lips to meet hers.

It was a chaste kiss, sweet and soft. Charlie hadn't kissed like that in a long time—Jason was probably the only one who had ever kissed her like this. All the other times were practically business, just one step in getting what she wanted from some near-stranger—and the occasional former dictator's long-lost son. Jason didn't kiss her as though it were a means to an end. He kissed her as though it was all he wanted in life. He wasn't expecting anything more. To be honest, he knew he was lucky enough that he didn't have an arrow sticking through him. Anything else Charlie was willing to give him seemed like a gift.

Their innocent kiss had just started to develop its own momentum when the inevitable happened—the forced ending.

Miles groaned at the sight before him as he and Monroe entered. He almost wished they had been in a normal building; there he could have knocked before entering, so he could have been spared the view. On the other hand, he didn't like the thought of those two alone behind a locked door—especially not after this sight. Jason had one hand tangled in Charlie's long locks, the other firmly on the small of her back (though Miles supposed he should be glad it hadn't drifted lower.) Charlie had one hand on the back of Jason's head and the other fisted in his shirt, pulling him closer. Miles would have been able to stand all of that were it not for Charlie's leg in the early stages of wrapping itself around Jason's waist.

"That'll be enough of that, lover boy." Miles snapped at them.

Monroe glowered at both of them, uncomfortable with how irritated the sight made him. At least this visual engrained in his mind would make interrogating the boy that much easier. A few quips came to mind about the fact he was unable to enter any area without finding Charlie on top of some guy, but he managed to bite it back. He wouldn't let his bitterness get in the way of his job, especially when he had no possible explanation for it. None he could think of that would still allow him to look Miles in the eye, at least.

Charlie stepped back from Jason and turned to Miles, rolling her eyes. As she turned around, she was slightly taken aback by the angered heat in Monroe's eyes, but wrote it off as his pre-interrogation mask.

"So. Time to get started then." Charlie hadn't intended for her voice to sound so flat, but there was nothing she could do to change it.

Jason's eyes flew to her, alarmed.

"Charlie, I—"

She stopped him before she could object. "I know. I'm going to go hunt. Maybe find someone to spar with."

She wanted to walk out and leave right then, but was pinned down by Jason's gaze. She gave him a halfhearted smile.

"Neither of these two assholes will say it, so I will." She leaned up on her toes to place a feather-light kiss on Jason's cheek. "Thank you for helping us."

Before he could do any more than look at her, Charlie was turning around and exiting the tent. As she passed Monroe, he stepped in her way somewhat to block her, the fire in his eyes still burning.

"You're not gonna tell us to play nice?"

Charlie paused, not looking at him. Her expression was distant and cold, but Bass could see the sadness lying beneath. "'Nice' won't get us what we need." Without a further glance to any of the men in the tent, she exited. She could feel their eyes on her, but couldn't bring herself to face any of them.

xxxxx

Charlie surveyed the area around her when she exited the tent. All around were battle-hardened men laughing and fighting. The few women were tending to their weapons or drinking and laughing with the other clansmen. Old Charlie, the Charlie that Jason knew, didn't belong here. But this Charlie felt completely at ease in the environment. She knew she was surrounded by killers. She knew that they accepted her as one as well. This thought should have sent her tearing in the other direction. Old Charlie wouldn't have wanted to be within a mile of these people. Now, they were her people.

Now that she was out of the tent, away from Jason, she realized just how much she had changed since she last saw him. Old Charlie might as well be dead. That thought only added to her already intense anger. Knowing she needed to burn some of it off, she grabbed her crossbow and asked Vincent to keep an eye on Jason's tent. She tracked down her mother and grandfather to tell them she was going hunting, and hastily she left.

xxxxx

It wasn't easy dragging the deer all the way back to camp on her own, but she had been well-prepared when she left. One of her men spotted her approaching the camp and grabbed another clansman to help with her catch. She didn't quite understand the looks they were giving her until she looked back at the deer she had bagged—surely she must have made an amusing sight, dragging a carcass that was almost twice her size. But it hadn't been amusement she had seen, it was respect. The clansman she was unfamiliar with looked at her with more than a bit of interest, but her own men had never had that problem—she was the boss first and foremost; a woman second.

It had been an easy kill. There was a whole pack of deer not two miles out, and lining up her shot had been no effort whatsoever. But she didn't want easy. She wanted to wear herself to the point of exhaustion so she could rid herself of the thoughts overcrowding her head, just for a little while. Hunting hadn't worked, which left her with two options.

Having Jason so close, still trusting her so much, made her uncomfortable enough to rule out one of her usual methods of release. That just left fighting. Fine by her. Most of the men had stopped sparring for the day, but she knew if she asked nice enough she'd be able to find someone willing to fight her.

xxxxx

One fight turned into three, then five. The first guy went down far too quickly for her taste. The next two seemed like fair fights for a bit, but Charlie was finding weak spots and getting in lucky jabs too easily. They must have been going easy on her.

By the fifth fight, she had attracted a bit of attention from the clan. Most of those who weren't sleeping were either waiting their turn or enjoying the show. This fight had been going on a while—finally, someone who wasn't going easy on her—and Charlie was starting to feel her body tire. She dodged a jab from the man before her, stumbling slightly. When it happened twice more a member of the audience, one of the men Duncan had gifted her with, suggested calling it quits. Though the crowd seemed unimpressed with the idea, Charlie's opponent backed off. She shook her head and squared her shoulders before meeting him in the eye.

"I'm good if you are."

The man before her laughed, an oddly light sound coming from such a large man (for he was nearly three times her size and all muscle).

"If the lady insists."

They took their positions, and suddenly Charlie was flying at him. She got in two solid hits to his chest, one to the head, and backed off before he could strike back. As he slowly approached her, circling, Monroe bust through.

"HEY!" All eyes were instantly on him, save Charlie who was keeping her gaze fixed on her opponent.

"That's enough of that. Charlie, Miles asked for you."

Charlie shrugged her shoulders at the mercenary before her. He laughed again and she found herself enjoying the sound.

"Just as well, I think the lass about had me." He winked at Charlie, and reached out to shake her hand.

After they parted ways, Monroe grabbed Charlie's elbow and started dragging her toward the command tent. She shoved him off, annoyed at being corralled. Charlie accelerated her pace slightly, winding her way through the camp, staying slightly ahead of him. About halfway to the tent, she stumbled slightly over a rock. After just two slight missteps, Monroe was by her side, pulling her upright.

Once she was stabilized, he didn't let go. He dragged her to a nearby torch and peered closely into her eyes.

"Dammit, Charlie, did you get hit in the head?" Without waiting for a response, he pulled her head close, inspecting it with eyes and fingers for a bump.

After an emotionally exhausting day plus the physical activity of hunting and fighting for the last few hours, Charlie was spent. She could barely handle being upright anymore. She closed her eyes and leaned into Bass' touch, putting one hand on his chest to stabilize herself.

He was about to declare her fit when she started leaning on him. He let one hand drop to her shoulder as the other brought her chin up to face him.

"You're dead on your feet. What the hell were you doing fighting?" Though his words were angry, his tone was too low and rough to carry anything but concern. His eyes echoed alarm with an intensity that nearly took the breath out of her.

Instead of showing how affected she was, Charlie furrowed her brow and straightened herself. She hated being seen as weak by anyone, but by Monroe would be worse for some reason.

"I'm fine. You said Miles wanted to see me? Let's go."

She marched off to the command tent, shoulders stiff. He watched her for a second—she didn't falter once. He shook his head before following her at a slight jog. She might have been fueled off of stubbornness alone at this point, but she certainly had it in spades.

xxxxx

Author's Note: I think I'm going to try to get one more chapter up tomorrow before the next episode airs. Can't wait to see what's in store—and here's hoping we finally get some Charloe action!


	5. Chapter 5

In the tent, Charlie found her mother waiting with her uncle. Miles' report was unimpressive. They hadn't managed to get any answers from Jason once he was triggered. He'd said a few things, sure, but nothing worth repeating. He snapped out of Patriot-mode about five hours into the interrogation (and after a particularly sharp blow to the head, though neither Miles nor Monroe mentioned the incident). They were willing to leave it at that when Rachel spoke up.

"Did he say anything personal about you?"

They looked confounded at the question, but Miles answered anyway. "No. A couple of rude comments about our mothers, but nothing we couldn't handle."

Rachel looked concerned. "That doesn't make sense. You said he reported that man, Doyle, was able to make him talk about his father, about things he remembered. If he still had his memories from before he was triggered, he would have tried to use information he had against you."

No-one had an answer for a while. Monroe eventually spoke up.

"Maybe he had to be ordered to. Maybe he has some different commands or something. I don't know. All I know is I'm beat, and Charlie—" he fell quiet as he looked over at her. She had found her way to the one chair in the room, and was collapsed in it, resting with her arms on the table in the center of the tent.

Everyone in the room was quiet, mindful of the sleeping girl before them. Nothing else needed to be said; it was understood that this meeting was at an end. Miles and Rachel moved to gently rouse Charlie, enough to wrap her arms over their shoulders, but not enough to fully wake her. Neither noticed Bass' eyes silently tracking them as they exited the tent.

xxxxx

After Charlie had been escorted to a cot, Bass made his way around camp, making sure everything seemed in order and setting up a watch through the night.

As he was getting ready to bunk down, he was approached by his new buddy the kiss-ass. Bass actually liked this guy—he wasn't just good for the ego, but he was a good fighter and could take orders.

"Hey boss, got a moment?"

One of the benefits to so much ego-stroking meant that Bass always had time for his number one fan.

"So I understand we have a prisoner. I just wanted to offer our services if you wanted him softened up a bit. That, uh, little blonde hellion mentioned he was gonna be tough to crack."

Bass's eyebrow raised at the other man's chuckle and comment. The mercenary mistook it for needing clarification.

"You know- chick with the tight ass and mean right cross."

Bass let the corner of his mouth lift slightly. His tone was light and low.

"Well, blonde narrows it down to two. So, you could be talking about Rachel, who is Miles' girl, so I'd stay away if I were you. Or you could be talking about Charlie, in which case," any amusement was gone as his eyes met the blonde man's with a dead serious glare, "you don't want to be talking about Charlie."

After he was sure the other man got his message, Bass dropped the glare. "The prisoner is Charlie's business. No one touches him unless she says, got it?"

Sensing he wasn't going to get anything else (except maybe vague threats), the blonde mercenary said he would take watch and hastily made his way to the other end of camp, leaving Bass to his bedroll.

Neither man noticed Conner in a sleeping bag nearby, eyes closed but awake enough to hear everything.

xxxxx

"Find yourself a girl—not Charlie—" it kept playing over and over in his head. It seemed to make sense when he said it: she'd never be able to look past who his father was; her family would hate him for being Bass' son; maybe Monroe didn't think Charlie was good enough for his son; she would get in the way of their plans to bring back the republic… It was the last one Connor had settled on as an explanation. Until now. The way his father threatened the clansman didn't seem to be protective, looking out for his best friend's niece. It was downright hostile.

He thought back further, to getting caught with Charlie by his father. The man was incensed, downright furious. He gave Connor a lecture on what Miles or Rachel would do when they found out—well, weeks had gone by, he was pretty sure they both knew by now and… Nothing. No threats to slit his throat, or warnings they were watching him. Could he really have misread his own father that badly?

Another memory popped into his mind.

"That's the guy you want to follow? Good luck with that."

She had asked if he was getting in over her head. She had no idea how right she was.

xxxxx

The next morning, Bass was surprised to find his kid only speaking to him in clipped tones. Connor reported that he was planning on spending the day with some of the men, readying supplies and the like, and went off on his way without so much as meeting his father's eyes. Before he could put too much thought into it, Miles found him and said they were going to have another go at Jason—the group had to move out soon to prevent catastrophe befalling Austin, but they wanted to have a full day to try to get through the boy's programming before they left.

There had been very little discussion on what to do with Jason after they were done interrogating him. Normally Bass would have vehemently supported ending the kid before he could end them, but he had stayed mostly silent on the matter. Jason had been a good fighter, a solid soldier before he left the militia. If it weren't for that Patriot mindwipe he could have been useful again. But there was another reason holding Bass back from speaking his mind—he was well aware that Charlie cared for the boy. Though it grated him, the thought of being responsible for the death of yet another person she cared about was… unpleasant to him. Though he would have loved to bash the kid's damn face in when he saw it attached to Charlie's, he still felt slightly averse to causing her so much pain.

He hated himself for it to no end.

xxxxx

Charlie woke up in a cot with someone gently wrapping their arms around her. She stiffened a moment, trying to remember the previous day. All too quickly, it all came back to her—Jason and his programming, Bass passing off responsibility to her, hunting, fighting… None of it explained who she could have fallen into bed with. She didn't even remember deciding to bunk down for the night. Concerned, she rolled over slightly. Long blonde hair, even lighter than her own, was all it took. Her mother had been making every effort to reconnect lately, and had apparently the next step in that was cuddling with her like she was still a baby.

Charlie couldn't find any real displeasure with the situation. Though she and her mother rarely saw eye to eye, she was still her mother, and she still wanted to be a part of her life. Charlie had to admit, she found herself missing the attention that Miles and even Rachel gave her back when they were fighting Monroe. Though Charlie didn't begrudge her mother and uncle their relationship, she occasionally found herself missing the bit of attention that used to be reserved for her; from Miles especially.

Through the gap in the tent flap Charlie could see the sun shining brightly—past time to be lounging around in bed, then.

Charlie started to rise, her movements rousing her mother. Rachel, not fully awake yet, tried holding onto her daughter tighter before actually waking. After blinking for a moment, she met Charlie's eyes with a tired smile.

"I don't think I've ever seen you so tired. We almost had to get one of the clansmen to carry you here."

Charlie picked up on the teasing tone in her mother's voice, but still grimaced at the thought. Before she could respond, Miles' voice could be heard just outside the tent.

"Charlie? Rach?" He waited a second before entering the tent.

"Good, you're up. Bass and I are going to get started soon… We haven't given him food yet, thought you might want to check on him yourself."

Charlie let her head drop for a second before nodding and feeling her spine stiffen. In less than a minute, she had gone from Rachel's freshly-awakened little girl to Miles and Bass' toughened soldier. When she went into Jason's tent, she would be as close to the fresh-faced idealistic girl he knew. No wonder she was exhausted, she'd been spending the majority of the last 24 hours juggling various masks, and today would be no different.

As she moved to exit the tent, Miles stopped her. He tried to keep his voice low enough to make the conversation seem private, though they both knew Rachel could hear.

"No funny business this time? Please, for my sake." The look Miles gave her was pained, as though the mental image was still burning in his mind.

Charlie let out a soft chuckle and leaned up to give Miles a quick peck on the cheek as she passed him by.

"On my best behavior, you got it."

After Charlie left, Rachel met Miles' eyes with a raised brow, silently inquiring about the 'funny business'.

"I gave them a couple minutes alone together. When I walked in they were… Kissing." The way Miles spat out the word 'kissing' as though it were the vilest thing he could think of. Rachel let out a soft laugh as Miles sat down on the edge of her cot.

"Kissing? Miles, I hate to break it to you, but I'm fairly certain they've done worse than kiss."

Miles cringed, "God, I can't hear that! I tried to keep them separated, but—" Rachel's laugh was far more abrupt now.

"That's the best way to ensure they'd get together." Thinking about an earlier conversation, Rachel's smile turned wistful. "Trust me, I know a thing or two about being a wild daughter." Remembering the previous day and Charlie's comments when Jason turned himself in, Rachel was suddenly grateful Miles hadn't been there to receive him. She lay there, gazing up at Miles.

"I'm worried." It was barely a whisper, but filled with emotion.

Hearing her words, Miles looked back at Rachel. He said nothing, just nodded and reached out to hold her hand.

xxxxx

Charlie wasn't sure what to expect when she entered the tent. She had spent so much effort ensuring as much of 'Old Charlie' that still existed was visible, she forgot to fret over what condition Jason would be in.

They had untied him from the chair, but that seemed to be the limit to Miles and Monroe's kindness. Instead of a bedroll, he was curled up on a tarp—it could have very well been the same one she used to drag her deer in yesterday, though this one looked a sight cleaner. She frowned, making a mental note to track down at least a blanket for him to use in the future. She placed the tray of food and glass of water on one of the two metal chairs in the room, and approached him cautiously.

As she drew closer, she could see the bruises patterning his face and what was visible of his arms and torso. Ropeburn was visible on several sections of his arms—absolutely nothing had been left to chance. She had told Bass and Miles not to go easy on him, and they appeared to take her words to heart. Charlie leaned down to shake his leg slightly, staying on her feet in case he lashed out at the unexpected awakening.

Normally he might have jumped at the abrupt wake-up, but the bruising stopped him before he could move very far. With a groan, he rolled over to see who was with him.

Concern was written all over Charlie's face. "I brought you some breakfast."

Jason nodded his thanks, sitting up slowly. Sensing his desire to limit movement, Charlie retrieved the tray and brought it to him, taking a seat on the tarp next to him and stealing a bit of his bread.

After struggling to think of something to say (small talk like 'what's new' didn't seem like the best idea), a thought occurred to Charlie.

"Jason." He stopped eating, all attention on her.

"Where's your father?"

Something dark passed over Jason's eyes, an expression she had previously learned to associate with mention of the senior Neville.

"Probably still with the Patriots. He's convinced that killing Monroe will get my mother back. I had to leave. I couldn't face him, not after…"

Charlie put a hand on his arm, encouraging him to go on.

"I got triggered. I don't know what happened for sure, but Doyle got a lot of information about my dad, his plans. I gave him everything."

Charlie moved her hand to his back, rubbing slow circles there.

"You know it wasn't your fault."

Jason wasn't so easily appeased. "I almost got him killed. And I didn't even realized I'd done it. What if he had actually been killed? Or my mother? Or what happens if—" He looked up at Charlie, the pain clear in his eyes. "That's why I'm here. I need to do this. I need it to mean something."

Just as yesterday, his hand found its way to her face, softly stroking it. "If I can keep you safe, it'll be worth it."

Charlie sighed and looked away. She didn't shrink away from his touch, but his words were another story.

"None of us are safe, Jason. It's admirable that you're doing this, but… This is war. There's no such thing as safe anymore."

With that, the 'Old Charlie' mask was gone. Jason could see it in her eyes. She was still Charlie, but something was missing. Something tiny enough that he might not have noticed it with a quick glance, but it was something so huge that its absence made all the difference when he studied her face.

Charlie squeezed his hand as she removed it from her face and stood up.

"They'll be in here soon. I'm sorry you have to go through all this, just to help us." She wanted to say more, but couldn't think of the words. With one last look back at Jason, she was gone.

He had just figured out what it was missing from her eyes. It was hope.

xxxxx

Author's Note: Just a few hours left until the next episode! With that in mind—while this story isn't fully-formed yet, I do have a few concrete ideas about where it's going. So after tonight this will probably be very much AU.

Until then, I'll just be here wondering WHO IS GOING TO DIE ON TONIGHT'S EPISODE?!


	6. Chapter 6

Author's Note: First of all, this (and most of Ch 7) were written before Austin City Limits, so we're entering definite AU territory from here on out.

Second- AUSTIN CITY LIMITS. Wow. I will admit—there were tears when I watched it. Ok, fine, all three times I watched it. (…Ok, four.) Every single scene with Jason was basically perfect in my opinion. Even though I no longer ship Jarlie, I was completely heartbroken at that ending. It was horrible and tragic and pretty much everything I hoped it would be. I absolutely cannot wait to see where the writers go from there—Charlie and Miles are both dealing with a hell of a lot of guilt, but I think they'll end up taking it in different directions.

Ok, ok, enough about that… If I don't stop theorizing now, I never will, so on with the story!

xxxxx

When Miles entered Jason's tent, Charlie was nowhere to be seen (fortunately), and Jason was attempting to stretch, mindful of his injuries. Miles winced at the sight of the boy—he and Bass had really done a number on him. Just like yesterday, Miles thought they would ease into it. Before they triggered him, they had interrogated him normally- just asking questions, seeing how truthful he seemed. Granted, Miles didn't have a clue the boy had been lying about his mother when he and Tom first approached them, but this time he thought he could be fairly certain of the boy's honesty. They hadn't felt entirely comfortable leaving him unbound for the night, but both men acknowledged that Charlie wouldn't be happy if they made Jason suffer unduly so they settled for posting an extra guard by him.

Miles had been surprised at how willing was Monroe was to consider Charlie's point of view in the matter from the very beginning. He wasn't sure if it was borne from a desire to not be the man he was before or if it was something… else. Miles hadn't been kidding when Charlie and Monroe first arrived in Willoughby. Miles knows Bass has always been a notorious ladies' man, with a particular tendency towards younger women. He'd like to think his niece had better sense than to get involved with him, but Mathesons have always had a bit of a blind spot where Bass was concerned. It turned out to be a non-issue when he first arrived, but Miles found himself mentally recounting their interactions, wondering if he should be concerned now.

However, Charlie's potential suitors were not the issue he should be focusing on—her former suitor was the greater concern.

When he noticed his visitor, Jason looked warily at the chair. Miles figured he'd cut the guy a break, let him relax while he could. When he wasn't triggered, Jason gave any and all answers they sought willingly and quickly. Once he was triggered, however, he was… trying. At first it was all silence and furious glares as he tested and re-tested the rope. Fortunately, he had done so as well before to ensure he couldn't under any circumstances get out of his own bonds. Once he established he wouldn't be getting free, he remained silent except for the occasional curse directed at his captors.

Miles made no motion to get Jason into the chair, so the younger man continued on as he had been.

"Charlie was just in here."

Miles' eyes narrowed. He knew Charlie had been in there, but it wasn't like Jason to flaunt his dalliance.

"She's different."

Miles nodded. "The Tower was tough on everyone. Charlie had to deal with a lot, and she had to do it pretty much alone." Miles tried not to show it, but he felt no small amount of guilt over that. He was so focused on Rachel, Aaron just wanted to put it all behind him, and the only other people in the world Charlie thought she could lean on were Nora, who didn't survive the Tower, and Jason, who turned against them. Jason flinched, acknowledging his role in Charlie's unhappiness.

"She doesn't think she's going to survive this, does she?"

Miles' eyes closed completely at that.

"I don't know. Whatever she's thinking, it's not enough to stop her from fighting. She's not going to give up till this is all over, one way or another. She's stubborn that way, but I don't need to tell you that."

Jason nodded, hesitating. "Yeah, she's stubborn. And maybe… Maybe fighting is all she knows."

Miles' face closed off at this. He had considered that, back when they were all still fighting with Georgia. He tried to warn her… But maybe he was already too late. He hated himself for doing this to her, turning her into something other than what she used to be. But he wasn't about to show Jason Neville that.

Sensing the conversation was over, Jason turned his back to Miles as he finished stretching out.

xxxxx

En route to join Miles, Bass decided to take a detour. He caught sight of Charlie wandering around the camp near Jason's tent. She looked aimless, as though she were just killing time. Monroe watched her for a moment before approaching her.

The exhaustion was evident, but he expected that. She had gotten a full night's sleep, they had made sure of it, but this went deeper. He expected sadness, anger, maybe even guilt or blame. Instead, he saw… nothing. He had never seen Charlie look so empty. He walked up to her, determined to see something register in her eyes before he could leave her be—even if it were just the loathing she usually reserved for him.

Though he would be happy if she were spouting vitriol at him, it wasn't exactly ideal.

"I'm surprised you're not back in the ring. After last night's performance I thought there'd be a line around the block waiting to face you."

She looked up, confusion in her eyes.

"What, the fight? Just blowing off steam."

A few suggestions popped into Bass' mind as to how exactly she could wear off that extra energy, complete with all-too-vivid visuals. He shifted slightly to try and hide his sudden discomfort.

"Well your blowing off steam took down two of the clan's best fighters. In under twenty minutes, from what I hear."

Confusion gone, Charlie shook her head.

"They were going easy on me. Their weak spots were practically jumping out." She sighed lightly. "Probably don't think a little girl like me can take a hit." She tried to smirk at that comment, but it fell short.

Bass' eyebrow raised. For all of her faults, a lack of self-confidence had never been one of them. He approached a log near where she was pacing and sat down.

"Charlotte, this is a war clan, not the girl scouts. They don't pull punches for anyone, and I'm pretty sure no one here thinks of you as a little girl." God knew Bass certainly didn't, no matter how hard he tried to force the image of Charlie as precocious toddler to the forefront of his mind. But no, he simply couldn't stop seeing her for the woman and warrior she had become. Especially not when she was making out with Jason Neville. Or lying naked next to his son. Or being called a little hellion by one of his own men (who was currently making every effort to avoid both Monroe and Charlie). Or any of the million mental images he'd stored up featuring himself instead of any of those worthless hacks. (The fact that he included his own son in that group was probably the least of his transgressions regarding Charlotte, so he let it go.)

At some point during his introspection, she had stopped pacing and taken a seat on the log next to him, almost close enough to be brushing against him. Her proximity coupled with the direction his thoughts had taken were doing a number on him, so he just sat there silently collecting himself, waiting for her to speak.

"I don't know what I'm doing."

Bass nodded, expecting the feeling but surprised she would admit it to him.

"You're still standing. Still fighting. Whether you know it or not, whatever you're doing has to be working."

Charlie nodded. After a moment she let out a snort.

"So when did you get assigned to giving pep talks? I thought Miles would be the one to give me the 'buck up' speech."

"Miles is worried as hell about you, Charlotte. But he didn't need to assign anything. I just wanted to… Check in."

Charlie looked even more incredulous than before.

"Are you dying again or something? Seriously, you've been an ass to me for weeks, and now you're playing nice?"

Anger flashed across his face, and his fist tightened slightly.

"Well, I figured since Miles was in there getting ready to beat the crap out of your boyfriend—or ex or whatever the hell—I should make sure you weren't chickening out."

God but did he know how to put his foot in his mouth. This was worse than when he confronted her about sleeping with Connor. Every goddamn time he was around her he ended up showing all his cards.

Charlie didn't look pissed, only mildly amused. "Glad to see you're back, then."

He rolled his eyes and got up, ready to join Miles. He had gotten some reaction out of Charlie, so he could consider his little mission a success. It was probably best that he limit his time with her, especially when he was about to spend the day in an enclosed space with her ex-boyfriend and her uncle—her uncle, his best friend, who could read him better than anyone on the planet. He definitely didn't want any thoughts of Charlie popping up while Miles was around. He stood up as he spoke.

"Just take care of yourself, Charlie. The whole fighting-till-you-drop routine may have won you some fans, but we've already got enough on our plate to add your exhaustion on the road tomorrow."

The advice she took in stride. The condescension she brushed off. There was only one thing that Monroe had just said that gave her pause.

As he was about to turn away, she smirked up at him. "When did I go back to Charlie?"

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Do you want me to call you Charlotte?"

She refused to turn from his gaze. "No one calls me Charlotte." Except he always did.

She never technically answered him. But they didn't always need words to have an understanding. He gave her a fast wink, so quickly she wasn't sure if she had imagined it, before stalking off to Jason's tent.

Before he went too far away, he remembered that though he would be busy, she would likely have nothing to do but stew. He knew firsthand the danger of thinking too much. Fortunately, his ability to think quickly coupled with his knowledge of the many needs of a fledgling army. Before he was even ten paces from where he had left Charlie, he had a plan.

"Charlotte."

She looked up at his return, smiling gently at the use of her full name.

"Sebastian." He didn't think he had ever heard her call him anything but Monroe. Well, nothing that would pass as a name, at least. He wasn't prepared for how his full name would sound passing her lips. He tried to remember why he had come back, stay focused on the task at hand—but damn did she make that difficult.

"There's a lot of work to be done before we head out tomorrow. Miles and I are busy, so we're going to need you to step up. You need to get the guys training—I know you know the basics, Miles had to have run drills when you two were with the rebels."

Charlie hesitated. It made sense, but surely someone else would be better for the job.

"Why don't you get Connor or your other buddy there to help out? I'm not exactly part of your little leadership team."

That was debatable—she hadn't been a part of the discussions as of late, but she was certainly a leader. Either way, Bass had an answer ready.

"These guys, they respect you. Half of 'em would listen to you cause they know you could kick their ass, the other half Miles is gonna have to beat off with a damn stick."

She quirked her brow at him, but couldn't stop the hint of a smirk that snuck to the surface. She tilted her head, silently urging him to elaborate on that one.

"Yeah, I handled it for you this time but from now on I'm reporting any sort of inappropriate comments directly to Miles. Then, you're on your own." He knew nothing would irk her more than putting Miles on her case, that she would take it as insinuating she was incapable.

Charlie rolled her eyes, causing his lips to quirk upward. He didn't know what it was about pushing her buttons that was so damn appealing, but he didn't feel too bad—she could give back as good as she got.

"I didn't ask you to handle anything for me, Monroe. And I don't need you or Miles defending me, I can damn well do it on my own." She didn't need him to protect her, but it didn't stop a warm feeling from growing in her core at the thought of him fighting someone off over her. She tried to push it down—he was so much easier to deal with when he was being an insufferable ass, she could ignore the slight attraction she felt for him then. And the fact that 'slight' was the absolute wrong way to describe it right now.

Monroe let out a chuckle. "Yeah he knows you can, but he's still your uncle. He's gonna look out for you whether you like it or not. Not worth arguing with him over it—you know he can be just as stubborn as you are."

He took the roll of Charlie's eyes as acquiescence, and looked around at the nearby clansmen. The only one he knew well enough to entrust with this responsibility was Scanlon, the blond merc who had taken a shine to Charlie. Monroe bristled at the thought of pairing them off together (just to work with, he told himself), but knew that his comments yesterday should keep the other man in line. If not… Well, he had already threatened to put Miles on the case; if he got a hint of any sort of questionable behavior from Scanlon he'd make good on the threat.

Catching his eye, he beckoned the man over. Monroe was not entirely unsatisfied to see the wary look on the blonde man's face as he approached. He also noticed that he was trying his best not to look at Charlie.

He fills them both in on what he wants done, receiving confirmation from both that they would get drills started right away.

Before he left, Bass stepped in close to Scanlon and lowered his voice.

"Remember, her right cross isn't the only thing you should be worried about."

As a bit of fear registered in the merc's eyes, awareness lit up Charlie's as she remembered Monroe's earlier comment. As had become habit, she couldn't help but push his buttons a bit.

She smiled sweetly at Scanlon, knowing his were not the only eyes on her.

"Too bad we'll have to hold off on that rematch. At least we should have some fun with this." She didn't deliver the comment in a particularly suggestive tone, but her eyes held a glint of mischief that was unmistakable.

Her gaze flickered to Monroe's as her smile was transformed into the smirk he both loved and loathed to see on her face. That little—she was toying with him. He was a bit worried over what that meant, but mostly her words had the intended effect—Monroe narrowed his eyes at Charlie before he hastily walked off. Hopefully Miles had already triggered Jason. Lord knows Bass could use something to beat on right now.

xxxxx

As always, suggestions and critique are always welcomed. Thanks for reading!


	7. Chapter 7

Charlie and Scanlon proved to be a fairly effective team. Sure, he still sent suggestive grins her way (after checking to make sure Monroe was nowhere in sight, she noted) but he kept his main focus on the other men, and actually let her take the lead as they started drills.

As she worked with some of the clan members on their sword work, she started to see what Monroe had been talking about. Everyone she worked with listened attentively to her comments, and seemed to be making an effort to improve—either that, or to impress her.

The men she had fought yesterday had been scattered throughout the group, but she spotted them easily enough. She was somewhat surprised, though certainly not disappointed, to see two of the men she had identified as being among the better fighters had drifted close, ensuring that it would be Charlie working with them instead of Scanlon. As she observed and worked with them, Charlie saw what she didn't the previous night. Yes, these clansmen were all strong—stronger than her, for sure. They were tough, they were experienced, but they weren't trained. They didn't have the discipline to seek out a weakness and develop a strategy to exploit it. They simply attacked. This was a war clan, after all, not an army. But an army they would have to become.

The thought passed Charlie's mind before she registered it. An army was not just needed for defeating the Patriots, it was also the first step in building back the Republic. A necessary step, one that she found herself signing on to before she even knew it. As she stepped back to let two of the men she was working with parry on their own, she let her thoughts drift to Sebastian Monroe.

That bastard. As she stood there, overseeing what were to be his troops, she realized that he had gotten her to work with his own army without her even realizing it. Part of her enjoyed the trust he had bestowed upon her, but mostly she was pissed off. At him, for being so damn charismatic and persuasive. At herself for falling for it. At her family, Jason, Connor, she was furious; had been filled with rage for some time now, but this was the first she acknowledged it. She had been shoving it aside and ignoring it, letting emptiness consume her. Sure, she had her moments—joking with Miles, handling her mother, exchanging quips with Monroe—but when she was by herself, the emptiness seemed unending.

Disturbed by the turn her thoughts had taken, she went back to her time-honored tradition of pushing the rage and emptiness to the back of her mind and trying to focus on the men before her. It was so much easier when she had something to concentrate on. Despite cursing his name mere seconds ago, she actually found herself grateful to Bass and his schemes for putting her in a position where she didn't have time to think. She could almost forgive him his new empire if he kept this up.

xxxxx

Charlie was working on blocking techniques when Connor returned from a supply run with a couple other clansmen, including Mac, the man from Charlie's final fight the previous night. Both Connor and Mac took in what was happening as they got back to camp. While the clansman's eyes lit up, Connor bit back a frown. Even at first glance it was easy to see that Charlie was calling the shots. This was supposed to be his army, his republic, his damn birthright. This was why he left Mexico. He had promised his father that they would build something great, and that they would do it together. He wished suddenly that "Not Charlie" applied to the Republic and not just to his dick.

Though they still had to load up the wagons, Mac declared they would be taking a break then and instantly went off in the direction of Charlie's training session. Connor eyed the group warily. It would be a chance to get some much-needed training, as well as get to know some of the men—they were to be his men, after all. But the thought of letting Charlie of all people boss him around and call him out on all his mistakes was more than he could take. Instead, he made his way to the command tent, hoping it looked like he was planning instead of sulking.

He was not alone when he arrived at the tent- Rachel and Gene were there, packing Gene's medical supplies and conferring quietly. They stopped talking when they noticed Connor had entered. He is content to ignore them, but apparently they don't agree. After a few minutes of silence, Rachel leaves Gene to his packing and approaches Connor.

"Connor? Aren't you meant to be overseeing the clan?"

"Looks like Charlie's got it covered." He replied with no small amount of bitterness.

Rachel sighed. She had seen Charlie working with the men, fighting with them. Her daughter fit in so well with this group of brutal killers. Seeing her fight alongside Monroe time after time was bad enough, but now she was practically commanding troops. How long before she ended up on the same path that had captured Miles and Bass? The worst part was, Charlie didn't care—she figured she'd be dead before she was able to 'end up' anywhere.

Rachel dreamed of grabbing Charlie, Miles, Gene, and just running off. Giving Charlie the normal life she so deserved after everything she's been through. She should be going to school, meeting cute boys, thinking about starting a family; not living through this unending bloodshed.

As though drawn by her burning ears, Charlie entered the tent. She was flushed with a slight sheen of sweat covering her face from her exertion. She looked happier than she had in some time. Her face brightened further when she spotted her family.

"Hey! Stan and Leslie are getting lunch together. Should be ready any time now." Stan and Leslie were one of the clan's three committed couples. Leslie was probably the only non-fighter among them, but what she lacked in battle experience she made up for by caring for the clan. Cooking and cleaning, prepping ammo and helping tend to the wounded or ill were all in her wheelhouse. Originally she took on the job with several others, but they had all been slain by the patriots. Until they could get the extra help, she had wrangled her husband into joining her.

Rachel smiled sweetly at her daughter, hoping she wasn't projecting her previous thoughts. "Thank you, Charlie. We'll be right there."

Charlie smiled back, but hesitated slightly. "Someone should probably tell Miles and Monroe. And if Jason isn't triggered, he should probably eat, too." Charlie's bright look had faded somewhat as she mentioned their prisoner. She sighed and turned to leave and find Vincent, ask him to deliver the news. Before she took two steps, Connor surprised them all by speaking up.

"I'll let them know." Charlie paused before turning back to him. She looked at him warily before nodding. She stepped up to him, staring him straight in the eye.

"You will not lay a hand on Jason." Her tone made it clear that this was not up for discussion. Connor rolled his eyes as he pushed past her lightly.

"Yes, ma'am." He muttered as he walked out. Charlie frowned at him behind his back but made no comment. She turned back to her mother and grandfather, asking if she could help them with their preparations.

xxxxx

As he was approaching the tent, the first thing Connor could hear was the unmistakable sound of flesh hitting flesh. He stepped through the tent flap to find Jason heavily bound to the chair, glaring as Monroe pounded him. Miles stood off to the side with a blood-stained knife in his hand. Jason didn't look like he would be giving anything up any time soon.

Monroe paused as he noticed Connor enter the room. He stopped pounding on Jason and walked to the chair near where Connor was standing. He picked up a used towel lying on it and started to wipe the blood from his hands.

"What's up?"

Connor tried not to let his shock show. He had seen men beaten before. Nunez got a special thrill from it, even. But he had never acted so cavalier. Granted, his obvious enjoyment was a bit more distasteful than Monroe's casual behavior, but both were hard to comprehend.

"Charlie sent me. Lunch is about ready. She wanted to know if he was ok to eat."

As he spoke, Jason had turned to focus his glare toward him. Behind the bruises and swelling flesh Connor could see his eyes. They were focused and direct. They also made him seem… Hollow. Like something had pulled out everything that made him a person and then patched him up without putting anything in its place. He knew that wasn't true—instead of the bastard who captured him was an even bigger bastard who would kill every one of them if given half a chance. But he didn't seem… Whole.

As Connor was being stared down, Miles and Bass had been conferring in the other corner. After a couple minutes, they appeared to come to a decision.

"Let's go, kid." Bass led Connor out of the tent and toward lunch.

"Is Miles going to interrogate him alone?"

Bass glanced back toward the tent briefly before answering.

"It's pointless. We're not gonna be able to break the Patriot brainwashing. Miles is gonna try to get him to snap out of it, then we'll figure out our next steps."

Next steps. That was something Connor certainly hadn't heard them bring up before.

"What are we doing with him?"

"That's what we've gotta figure out, kid."

"He's a liability. We should just kill him."

Bass stopped Connor before they got too close to the rest of the camp.

"Watch it. We need to think this one through. Weigh the risks and benefits."

Connor couldn't believe those words were coming from the same man who led the slaughter of the training camp.

"You never had a problem killing those damn zombies before. So what now? Is this because you grew a fucking conscience or because of Charlie?"

Monroe could feel his face starting to burn but goddamn it he wouldn't sink to the level of actually _blushing_.

"What in the hell are you talking about kid?"

"I heard you talking to that merc last night. You know, when you told me getting together with Charlie was a bad idea, I almost believed you. I thought you were looking out for me. But you're just, what, jealous?"

"Kid, I told you to stay away from Charlie because she is bad goddamn news. Hell, just look at Jason Neville. They've tried to kill each other more times than I can count, and yet he's still coming back for more. I was looking out for you. And Scanlon was being disrespectful. I dealt with it because it was a hell of a lot easier than the shit-storm Miles would bring down. And as for being jealous? Kid, your head's up your ass."

Not waiting for a response, Monroe made his way over to where lunch was being served, grabbed a bowl of stew and made his way into the command tent.

The word jealous was still ringing in his ears.

xxxxx

Lunch was a casual affair, the whole clan ate and talked in small clusters. Charlie found herself with Mac and two other older mercenaries, George and Chuck. As they ate, she was regaled with stories of their lives before the blackout. George told her about how much easier life was with advanced technologies, while Chuck lamented some of the simpler advances now missing from their society (he positively moaned at the mention of indoor plumbing). Mac chirped in now and then, but was mostly silent. Charlie had grown quite fond of his accent—something called Scottish, she was told. Though it sounded nothing like Maggie's English accent, it was different enough from most speech Charlie had heard to remind her of the woman who she could have loved as a mother.

Mac finished his meal quickly and left, bidding adieu to the two men and the 'little lass' he had been sitting with. Chuck noticed that Charlie was watching the older man make his way through the camp to get back to work.

"Ah, I wouldn't get your hopes up over that one." He leaned in conspiratorially, "I'm pretty sure he's not one for younger women, even one as beautiful as you."

Charlie laughed at the insinuation that she had developed a crush on the grizzled warrior who was certainly older than her own father (though likely not by much). She was impressed with him; he seemed better trained than most of the clansmen but he spoke about himself far less.

"I was just curious. You two mentioned what you did for work and the like before the blackout—I don't think I've heard Mac say one thing about himself." Not that she had talked to him all that much, granted, but he did seem a bit more terse than most, particularly when the topic of pre-blackout life arose.

At this, George joined Chuck in leaning in, keeping his voice low.

"Mac doesn't talk about himself much. Not unless you get him drunk enough, and even there it's not a guarantee." The two men went on to tell Charlie about people who had gone with the explicit intent of getting information from Mac. Some had more success than others, and the stories had quietly circled the camp.

"From what we were able to piece together, we think he was MI-6 before the blackout hit. Probably stationed here, but definitely trained somewhere else." At Charlie's blank look, George elaborated. "MI-6 dealt in intelligence- spying and the like. They were based over in England. Their version of the CIA or something."

Charlie remembered hearing about the CIA from her uncle and mother at various points, and understood enough to know what they weren't saying—even before the blackout, it was possible Mac was already a trained killer.

"All of this is just guesswork of course. Like I said, the man doesn't talk about himself much."

Charlie nodded, smiled, and changed to topic. But her thoughts didn't stray far from Mac and his MI-6 background. She was grateful to have something to wrap her mind around besides the usual horrors she fixated on.

xxxxx

Though they had agreed on an hour for lunch, Charlie was done in a quarter that time. She went from group to group, checking in and conversing lightly with some of them. Before long, she saw Miles exit Jason's tent, wiping blood off of his hands. She quickly caught his eye, and nodded when he indicated toward the command tent. Charlie told the group she was with that she'd see them when they started up training again and made her way toward the tent.

Inside the tent looked different than before- several chairs had been brought in and were currently in a semi-circle on one side of the room. Sitting in two of them were Bass and Connor. They were each eating their stew slowly, not talking to or even looking at each other. Miles was standing in the center of the room, leaning on the table, staring blankly at some of the maps and documents laid out on it.

Charlie circled the table to the side her uncle was on, stopping next to him. After moving a couple documents out of the way, she hopped up so she was sitting on the table next to him. They were close enough to hear each other without speaking very loudly.

"How's it going in there?" Miles was still staring ahead at the table, and Charlie fixed her eyes on a seam along the tent.

"It's not. I don't think we're going to get anything out of him like this. He's still triggered, I couldn't snap him out of it."

Charlie nodded, silent. It had been a longshot anyways, but that didn't make the lack of results any less disappointing.

Though they were speaking softly, their conversation had attracted Bass' attention. He stayed put, but was watching the two intently.

After a couple minutes of silence, Miles finally raised his head. He looked over at Bass and jerked his head slightly. Getting the message, Bass put his now-empty bowl down on the seat next to him and moved to where Miles and Charlie were. Connor was unsure if he was wanted in this conversation, but unwilling to be left out. He followed his father but stayed at the opposite end of the table from the Mathesons.

Miles spoke up.

"We're not going to get anything out of Jason. So, we need to figure out what to do with him now."

xxxxx

Author's Note: Suggestions? Comments? Concerns? Let me know!


	8. Chapter 8

"We need to figure out what to do with him now."

How could she have been so stupid? Not once had she thought about what would happen to Jason beyond his interrogation. The answer was obvious—he was too much of a liability. Sure, she trusted his intentions toward the group—toward her, certainly—but he could be triggered by the Patriots at any time. They had no defense against it, and no idea how to undo the brainwashing he had been put through. It was the only logical choice. She refused to acknowledge that out loud. She wasn't sure she could fully face it yet.

Connor desperately wanted to speak up, but the look his father had given him was still on his mind.

"You manage to wake him up?" Bass broke the silence.

"Nah, he's still in zombified."

Quiet again. Until, finally,

"Let's just say it. He could be triggered by the Patriots at any time. Then, we're screwed."

Everyone had been thinking it, true. But none expected to hear it from Charlie's mouth. Not even Charlie. All eyes were on her, though she remained staring ahead at the tent. She continued.

"We can't afford to let him go."

Her voice was unwavering throughout. Inside, she thought she might be crumbling.

Just then, Vincent rushed into the tent.

"I think he's back. He's talking, asked to see Miles."

Miles and Charlie exchanged a quick glance. Miles was out of the tent as Charlie hopped off the table and followed hot on his heels.

xxxxx

Jason was awake and alert as the Mathesons entered his tent. Charlie moved to untie him, but Miles stopped her, wary. Remembering her previous words, Charlie gave herself a mental admonishment. It looked like Jason, sure, but she knew there was a good chance it wasn't.

Jason didn't look surprised or even offended at Miles keeping Charlie from freeing him.

"It's me. I'm… In control."

Miles snorted softly. "You're gonna have to forgive us for not taking your word for it."

"Of course." Jason was sincere—he was struggling so much with what he already could have done, he wouldn't risk piling onto that heap for the world.

Miles sat down in the other chair across from Jason. Charlie remained where she was, arms crossed, not looking at either man. Once again she seemed to find the seams of the tent fascinating.

"So Monroe and I've been putting you through the ringer for the better part of the last 48 hours, and we're not even close to understanding that brainwashing bullshit. I'm sorry, but we're out of time. It's just not gonna happen."

Jason wasn't exactly disappointed to hear they had no further plans to tie him up and beat on him—even though he couldn't remember the actual occurrence, the aftermath was tough to take. But he was upset that he had been unable to help, that his plan didn't work. And he dreaded what would come next. He tried to swallow back this fear.

"So what's next?"

Miles eyed the boy a bit before deciding to lay all the cards on the table. At this point, odds were good they'd have to kill him anyway, so there was little danger of unwanted intel getting out.

"We found out the Patriots sent some cadets to Austin to make a mess of things down there. We don't know much beyond that, but we're moving out tomorrow to try to stop them."

Jason's brow furrowed, his mind in motion.

"How many cadets? Do you know who they're targeting?"

Miles sat back in the chair, more comfortable talking tactics than the other conversation they needed to have.

"Four cadets. Other than the fact that they're going to Austin, we don't know a thing."

Jason took in a deep breath, steadying himself.

"They'll have set up a cell—one or two supervising officers to give orders. Probably implanted in Austin some time ago. Miles, I know how they work. If you can get me to a starting point, I can help you stop this."

Miles was silent. He looked at Jason appraisingly.

"Are you joking?" Charlie said, incredulous but not angry. "If they have Patriot officers there, it's the last place we should be bringing you. You said it yourself, Jason, you're the last person we should be trusting right now." Her hand rested on his arm, dulling the pain of her statement. She wasn't trying to be cruel with her words, but they did sting.

"Keep me cuffed, then. Charlie, I know their playbook. They trained me, I know what to look for."

"So, tell us, or maybe—"

"No. Charlie he's right. We'll keep him cuffed, unarmed, but we stand a hell of a better shot of finding those cadets with him than we do without."

Satisfied that he had the beginnings of a plan, Miles left to confer with Bass, leaving Charlie and Jason staring at each other with nearly identical looks of dismay.

"There's no good options." Jason whispered.

Charlie sighed, looking down at her hands before nodding. She walked forward to remove Jason's binds. She undid the first knot and, knowing he could handle the rest on his own, left for the command tent.

xxxxx

"Yeah brother, it's probably our best option, but you think we'll all be ok with him there? Sure he's been fine when he's in control, but if they get their hands on him—"

"I know. I know that every minute he's with us, everyone's in more danger. But he could be an asset, Bass."

Monroe sighed. He was familiar with the argument; it was one he himself had made when they recruited Strausser to handle interrogations. He was a half-crazed psychopath, but he got results. The devil you know, right? Hell—that was probably Miles' argument for not killing Bass when he first arrived in Willoughby. Though the situation didn't hold well with him, Bass nodded.

xxxxx

With Jason no longer needing interrogation, Miles and Bass were free to spend the day how they liked. Charlie had started up with training again, and then pair wandered over to where she was leading them in drills.

"This your idea?" Miles didn't sound thrilled at the prospect.

They were leaning up against a fence, watching Charlie interact with the clan.

"She was stewing, brother. Needed to get her mind off it all."

Miles nodded, not saying anything.

Bass let out a slight chuckle.

"And she's probably who we want running this. She's damn good, brother. Just don't tell her I said that, I'd never fucking live it down."

Miles let out half a smile and gently shoved his best friend.

As they were watching, they saw Charlie meet eyes with Scanlon. He gave her one of his soon-to-be-patented suggestive grins, and she responded by rolling her eyes and halfheartedly trying to hide a smile, eyes still dulled from her emotional exhaustion. Bass could feel Miles tensing next to him. Both men stood there, debating whether or not to give Scanlon a piece of his mind (or read him the riot act in Miles' case), when the merc looked around and spotted them. His eyes widened, all signs of a grin were wiped off his face and he hastily turned to work with some of the men—as far away from where Charlie was as possible. Bass let the tension leave his body. So, the man was still making his play for Charlie, but at least seemed to be showing some restraint.

He knew the other man was unlikely to simply give up—Charlotte was simply too damn tempting for that to be an option. Bass knew that all too well.

Miles, on the other hand, had no idea what had transpired between the merc and Bass. Without saying anything, he glared at the man beside him until he had his attention. He shook his head a bit and quirked an eyebrow, asking what the hell that was all about.

"Relax, brother. I just told him to watch it. I'll leave any actual violence to you."

Miles was unappeased. "Since when do you care who's interested in Charlie?"

Bass bit back an ugly frown. He couldn't answer that in any way Miles liked, so he settled for a half-truth.

"It got ugly when we were on our way to find you. Just trying to keep from having a bad situation again."

Charlie had said Bass had saved her life. Neither elaborated on how. Miles had managed to get Bass far enough away to inquire about the incident, but he seemed hesitant to speak up. The glare Charlie had given both of them upon hearing the topic of their conversation made it clear that it would not be brought up again. At least, not while she was possibly within earshot. She wasn't now, though.

"What kind of bad situation, Bass?" The steel in Miles' voice was tinted with pain at the thought of his niece in trouble.

After the last time Miles had asked, Charlie made Monroe swear on whatever he held dearest—and under penalty of a slow, excruciating death—that he wouldn't spill about what happened in that bar. She was worried about Miles' overprotective streak coming out again, but mostly she was just embarrassed and ashamed to have put herself in a situation she couldn't get out of on her own. He couldn't break his promise to her.

"The kind that ended with me killing some guys. Look, she didn't get hurt, and she's here now. Just… Drop it."

Miles was about to tell Bass exactly what he thought of that when Vincent approached with Jason.

"Kid said it was important."

"Miles, I just remembered—you said the cadets were going to Austin?"

At the first sign of Miles' nod, Jason continued.

"I just remembered something—Truman. He was talking to a cadet, all I heard was 'Austin at 19 Arnell'. I didn't think anything of it until now, but—"

Before he could continue, Miles and Bass were off toward the command tent. After a few paces, Miles turned around and shouted.

"Get Charlie. Meet us over there!" He pointed toward their destination as he and Bass went to consult their map of Austin.

xxxxx

When Vincent and Jason went to gather Charlie, she let her favorite merc know he was no longer on guard duty—if they were trusting Jason now, might as well do it right. She instead tasked Vincent with informing Scanlon of her departure and led Jason toward the command tent. En route, he filled her in on the tidbit he remembered from his time with the Patriots.

When they got to the command tent, Miles and Bass were deep in discussion, pointing to various spots on the map of Austin.

"So we have a plan beyond go to Austin and look for this suicide squad. We'll need to head out first thing—"

"Yeah, I got it brother. I'll have Scanlon—"

"I don't like the look of that one."

Bass chuckled lightly. He saw the two youths enter the tent out of the corner of his eye. "Is that because he's following my lead, or cause you caught him eying up your niece?"

Miles sent Bass a glare that could cut steel, but Monroe only laughed. His eyes glinted as he looked back at where Charlie and Jason were making their approach. Charlie was once again rolling her eyes, and Jason had stiffened significantly.

Miles ignored the comment, focusing on the two newcomers instead.

"We're going to be splitting the camp. Four of us go into Austin—"

"I want Connor there, too." Bass jumped in.

"The five of us are going into Austin. We're gonna have a group waiting a couple miles out for backup, and the rest of the camp will be another twenty miles out, following your little friend out there."

The last line was directed at Charlie, who shot a look at her uncle before mentally reviewing the plan. A hitch occurred to her, one she wouldn't at all mind pointing out.

"My guys don't take orders from his." She tried her best to keep the smugness from her voice, she really did. But some of it must have shown, because Bass was absolutely scowling at her.

Miles stepped in before he could comment. "Fine. Your men will be with our backup, you can tell 'em yourself. You two," he addressed Charlie and Monroe, "get everyone ready. We leave at dawn." He turned to Jason, engaging him in a discussion about potential plans the Patriots could have.

Wordlessly, Charlie and Monroe went to talk to their troops. Bass pushed past Charlie with his shoulder on his way out, but she didn't comment. She chased after him, shoving him lightly in retaliation as they both approached the tent flap.

Instead of the murderous looks they may have given each other in the past, amusement shone in both of their eyes. They quickly agreed to speak to their combined troops together. It was dawning on Charlie that for all he bitched and moaned about her position of authority, there was genuine acceptance there—between both of them, she decided.


	9. Chapter 9

The first part of their journey was over. Scanlon and most of the clan had made base about twenty miles outside of Austin. Rachel and Gene were staying with them—Miles wanted to keep them out of danger, and Monroe wanted to keep their influence from Miles. Charlie had to agree with both of them. She waved at her mother as she fell into step behind the wagon. Accompanying the Mathesons, Monroes, and Jason were the four remaining men sworn to Charlie, and three of Bass' clansmen. Included among the three was Mac, who had developed a tendency to gravitate toward Charlie. Both Miles and Monroe had marked this behavior, though neither were alarmed by it. Mac always showed Charlie respect and a growing bit of affection, and there was no attraction between the two visible. Miles and Bass saw Mac was a safe companion for Charlie. They were currently in step beside one another, engaging in a lighthearted discussion about the best game in the area with easy smiles.

Both Miles and Monroe let their thoughts drift to the younger Matheson. Miles heard her chuckle softly at something Mac said, and lamented it was a sound he didn't hear often. He often wished Charlie could have had a better life, with less bloodshed and more friends. He imagined what she might have been like without the blackout—just graduating college, probably going to bars on weekends with a group of her girlfriends, hopefully her biggest worry would be finding a decent-paying job. Instead she was debating the merits of possum over squirrel, and sharing her preference for knives over swords in combat. This was probably the closest she'd bonded with anyone since Nora died.

Monroe also noted her easy manner with the clansmen. It hadn't escaped his attention that the three of his men who volunteered as backup were all ones who had been training directly with Charlie earlier in the day. He didn't know if she was aware of it, but it was apparent to Monroe that Charlotte was earning the loyalty of many of his men. He almost berated himself for putting her in charge of training, but he found himself more than a little impressed with how well she adapted to the roll of military commander.

A few hours later, Miles was driving the wagon alongside Mac, and Connor and Jason were warily eyeing each other in the back of the wagon with one of Charlie's men between them. Charlie was somewhat separate from the rest of the group for the first time since they started. Monroe fell into stride beside her before slowing his pace. Charlie followed his lead and reduced her speed to match his. When she deemed they were a sufficient distance from the rest of the group she looked up at him with a quirked brow, silently asking what he wanted.

"When we get back, we're gonna have to discuss the command structure around here."

Charlie bristled, anticipating more comments about her lack of experience.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" She gritted.

"It means I'm not an idiot. Your guys are loyal to you. Hell, you're winning more over every day. If I didn't think you'd shoot me for suggesting it, I'd start calling you General Matheson along with Miles." The look she gave him made quite clear what she thought of THAT idea.

"You're a part of this now, Charlotte. And if we're gonna have a shot at this, you and I are gonna need to be on the same page. Just think about it. We'll talk once we're out of Austin." As he moved forward to walk alongside the wagon, she couldn't help but stare at the back of his head with incredulity. This 'nice' streak he had been on was throwing her through a loop. If he kept this up, it wouldn't be long before she found him rescuing a kitten stuck up a tree or saving orphans from a burning building. She shook the thought out of her head and played his words in her mind again.

This nice streak was more than just that—it was respect. He was treating her like an equal, a partner in this. She knew the arrangement with Connor was a partnership, and that was how she would best describe the dynamic between him and Miles as well. Earlier, he had called her a leader. Maybe he actually meant it.

As that thought set in, she realized just what she was thinking of—helping Monroe bring back his Republic. The organization she had blamed for the destruction of her family. The government and the man she once swore to bring down. And now she was actually contemplating helping him bring it back. What gave her the most unease about the situation was how readily she could accept it. It didn't give her the slightest bit of discomfort to picture a future where she was working by that man's side.

xxxxx

Jason was still too injured to walk comfortably, so he remained in the wagon for the majority of the trip. Connor stayed in or near the wagon most of the time, casting wary looks toward Jason.

When Charlie was once again walking alone, Jason decided it would be good to stretch his legs a bit. He got out and made his way toward Charlie. Once again, she found herself slipping to the back of the group—her idea, this time. Connor was fortunately still in the wagon, so she was hopeful that she and Jason could get at least some semblance of privacy.

"So you have men under your command. How did that happen?"

Charlie smiled softly and started to tell him the story of how she saved Duncan's life. Though she didn't go into terrible detail (she hadn't made her foray into the world of prostitution known to anyone in their group, though with Duncan's clan here it was probably just a matter of time before it got out), she found herself sharing more about the event than she had with anyone else. Talking to Jason was just so… easy.

Jason looked over at Charlie. Her eyes shone brightly as she spoke of getting the drop on a man nearly three times her size, killing him with his own weapon. She was a bit proud of herself about it. He remembered back when she could barely stand the thought of killing. Now she was as proficient at it as any number of hardened soldiers he'd met.

"You're different." He spoke the words softly, unsure if he even wanted her to hear.

She looked back at him, her face closed off. After a moment she nodded, returning her gaze to the road ahead of her.

"I think we all are. Me, you. My mother, Miles. Hell, maybe even Monroe. Is there anything that's the same as it was eighteen months ago?"

She regretted the question as soon as she saw his face. She didn't need to ask why he'd adopted such a hard look. There was one person who would likely never change—Tom Neville.

Wordlessly, she reached out and grasped his bicep gently in support. As she let it drop, Jason grabbed her hand. She looked at him, eyes wide, trying to figure out a way to explain that things couldn't be the way before. But instead of holding onto her hand, Jason merely squeezed it back and dropped it. He understood—they still cared for each other, still wanted to support each other, but things between them would never be how they were before.

The pair sped up their pace slightly to rejoin the group. Before long, the sun was setting and they were stopping to set up camp. They were about five hours outside of Austin. First thing tomorrow morning they would go into the city and attempt to track down the Patriot cadets.

xxxxx

As they were settling down for the night, Charlie wanted to get Bass alone to continue their earlier conversation. Unfortunately, between Miles and Connor he was practically never alone. Finally, when most of the others had laid down for the night, she caught his eye and nodded her head into the woods. Without waiting for him to react, she took off in the direction she indicated.

Immediately, Monroe looked to Miles to make sure he didn't see the exchange. His best friend was fortunately facing the other direction, talking to a couple of the clansmen over a flask of whisky. Quietly, Monroe took off in the direction Charlie had indicated.

By the time he caught up with her, she was leaning back against a tree out of earshot of camp, waiting for him. She looked at him as though he were a puzzle she were trying to solve.

"About what you were saying earlier—"

"Charlie, I meant it when I said wait till after Austin. Think it all over."

"I just need to know one thing. Why?"

"'Why' what, exactly?"

Charlie paused. She hadn't thought it through that far.

"Why should I? Why the hell would you want me to? Why… Why are you doing it?"

Charlie turned away at the last part, and Bass could tell she hadn't actually meant to say it.

"It was for Connor. Where he was, the path he was on… He was gonna be dead sooner or later and he had no damn clue. It was how I got him out."

Charlie laughed. "You didn't want him to die so you brought him into _this_ fight? God, I was right, you really are delusional."

Anger lit up in his eyes. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Charlie looked at him in an almost pitying manner—how she had looked at Connor back when they first met. It was possibly the most aggravating thing he'd ever seen.

"You want to wipe out the Patriots and build back your Republic. I've got news, you'll be dead before you can even get close. We all will. You really think we're gonna win this?"

She scoffed and headed back toward camp. Bass wanted to stop her, but couldn't force the words out of his mouth. He was absolutely frozen in place, not believing what he just heard.

Charlie couldn't die.

xxxxx

To say that Bass didn't sleep well that night was an understatement. He found himself watching the hours pass by recounting this recent interactions with Charlotte. Had she always been so… fatalistic? Was this something that showed up recently? Was it because of something he did?

That last one seemed somewhat obvious. Rachel liked to blame him for every little thing that went wrong with her family. She took it too far, but she had a pretty damn good reason. Ben, Danny, even whatever Charlie had gone through on her quest to get her brother—those were all Monroe's doing. Yet once they arrived in Willoughby, it was as though Charlie had let it all go. She hadn't once brought up his role in her misfortune, or even implied blame.

Was that when it started? She accepted him on her team, was that her signifying the beginning of the end?

By the time the sun came up, Bass' eyes had been closed for maybe an hour. A boot in his side had him jerking upright.

"You look like hell, brother."

Miles. He knew he had to tell Miles. But there was nothing Miles could do, so was it fair to divert his attention at such a crucial moment? Though it felt wrong, Monroe kept his mouth shut on the matter. After Austin. One thing at a time, and then… God, this was not a conversation he looked forward to.

xxxxx

In no time, they were on the road again. Just as soon, they were two miles outside of Austin, where they had agreed to split up. The Mathesons and Monroes would be going with Jason Neville into Austin, but Charlie's four men and Monroe's three would stay for twenty-four hours before determining if backup was necessary.

Before they parted, Mac took Charlie aside and pressed something into her hands.

"This has gotten me out of my fair share of tough situations, lass. Hold onto it." Charlie reclaimed her hand to find a switchblade nestled there, small enough to easily hide. With a winning grin, she clapped her hand on Mac's arm for a quick squeeze. She slid the blade into her boot before hopping on the back of the wagon.

As the clansmen got situated, Connor and Jason joined her in the wagon. After a few minutes, she could feel Monroe's gaze on her. His eyes had been on her nearly all morning. She knew it was due to their discussion the previous night, one she was now regretting. Irritated, she shot him a quick glare.

"What?" She asked, challenging him with one eyebrow. She knew he wouldn't address their previous conversation where they could be so easily overheard.

Monroe let his gaze traverse the wagon. He looked pointedly at where Jason and Connor were icily staring each other down.

"Shouldn't be awkward for you at all." Monroe muttered as he made his way to the driver's bench of the wagon. He smirked as he felt her glare on the back of his head. Irritating though he was, she had to concede his point—it was uncomfortable enough interacting with Connor, Jason too at times. Dealing with the two of them together? Fortunately this would be a fairly short ride.

xxxxx

One short wagon ride was followed by a boat trip as night fell. They were silent crossing the river. As the boat landed on the other side, everyone got out without a peep. As she egressed, Charlie balanced her hand on Bass' arm to assure him everyone else was out. They were too close to Austin to risk breaking silence.

"You and six-pack made a pretty spicy team. So what kind of number did he do on you?" So much for silent. Connor seemed to share his father's affinity for questioning her choice in lovers at wildly inappropriate times.

"Well, he's probably the last person in the world I should trust right now. But as long as you're around, he won't be, so there's that." She could tell he was seething as she walked away. She didn't give a damn.

By the time the sun rose, they were entering downtown Austin.

xxxxx

Author's note: Writing has been going slowly lately… Partially because of that silly little thing they call life getting in the way, but also because of what I have to write next! And this new hiatus is messing with my motivation. Can't wait till April 23—and I REALLY can't wait until they (please please please) renew for season 3!


	10. Chapter 10

She wasn't sure exactly how it happened—other than the fact that it was Monroe's fault. He had been moody all morning, but then all of a sudden Miles is out of earshot and he decides it's time for a group chat. One minute they were approaching Arnell St., the next she's been goaded into a discussion about her 'type'.

"I'm thinking you just go for guys whose fathers you've tried to kill. I mean, after Neville's kid you run straight for mine?"

It hadn't been a straight shot. There was Jeff the bartender, Mark the stablehand, one or two others she met while she was 'seeing the sights'. But perhaps that didn't need to be public knowledge. Charlie was in a bad place when she first left Willoughby—if she were being totally honest with herself, she hadn't quite left her 'bad place' yet. But with time, and something to focus on, she was getting there.

"Maybe I just go for guys whose fathers have tried to kill me. And failed." She shot a superior look his way, but Bass was unperturbed.

"You weren't too successful either, Charlotte."

She scoffed. "I got a hell of a lot closer on my own with a crossbow than you did with power and a damn army."

Fine, he had to give her that. She had snuck up on him and those bounty hunters with just a gun—wait, crossbow?

"You had a gun. Not a crossbow." His brow was furrowed.

Charlie couldn't even try to hide her smug look. She had been holding onto this one for too long, waiting for the right time to let something slip.

"You really think I just stumbled upon you tied up in a pool?"

At this, Monroe stopped completely, realization lighting up his face. He hadn't taken the time to consider it before now. Charlie paused as well and turned to face him.

"You were the girl. The one I just had to meet."

The smirk on Charlie's face was enough affirmation for him. He looked her up and down as subtly as he could. (It wasn't subtle enough to escape Charlie's notice, but she politely pretended not to notice. For now, at least.) He had to admit, she was definitely worth waking up for. Or she would have been if she hadn't been trying to kill him.

By this point, Jason and Connor had gotten far enough ahead of them that they couldn't hear. They had been far too uncomfortable with the earlier conversation to chime in, and discussing attempts on each other's lives just didn't do it for them—not like it seemed to for Charlie and Bass. Miles was still out of earshot scouting, otherwise the discussion would have been put to a stop at once.

Charlie knew what question was coming next, and was willing to wait patiently for it.

"Just how close did you get?" The glint in her eye could not be described as mischievous—it had far too lethal an edge to it. He had caught similar looks from Rachel in the past. He had always thought of it as a sort of, 'I'm picturing how I'd kill you' look. It would seem he was right.

Charlie's hard eyes were countered by one of the sweetest smiles he had ever seen.

"You really should have been nicer to those bounty hunters." She started walking again, tossing her final words over her shoulder. "They did save your life just in time, after all."

Bass stood there a moment longer, jaw agape. He hadn't thought she had actually pulled the trigger. It was entirely possible that Charlotte Matheson had gotten closer to killing him than anyone else had in the past.

He should be angry. Maybe even a bit scared. He definitely should not be as turned on as he was.

xxxxx

It made sense that she and Connor would be the ones to go in—least likely to be recognized, and close to the same age as the cadets they had seen. But that still didn't mean it would be easy. Though they played it well, with no obvious tension between them, they still managed to push each other's buttons. First was Charlie treating Connor like her little errand boy—she picked out some jerky and sweetly indicated that Connor should pay. He got his own back when he asked if there were kids like them around. It had caught his attention how much Charlie hated being referred to as 'kid', and a glance to his left showed what he hoped—she was fighting back a frown at his word choice.

When they went back to report in with Miles and Monroe, Charlie did all the talking, basically ensuring that Connor was ignored (and by none more than her).

Jason was quick to prove his value. He had been feeling like crap due to the beatings he took, and worse that they amounted nothing. He knew Patriot SOP inside out, however, so he was able to keep his group safe from their booby traps. Surprisingly, Monroe was the first to point out Jason's use.

Charlie, a bit flustered from earlier interactions with the various men she was travelling with, kept her distance from both Jason and Connor while they searched the apartment. They found evidence that former President Blanchard would be a target. It made sense to have someone he knew approach them, though Monroe was worried the man would shoot them on sight.

Charlie wanted to suggest he go alone in that case, but decided—just this once—to behave. Still, the look and shrug she gave Monroe said she wasn't too surprised or torn up at someone wanting him dead. He ignored it, for now, and took off with Miles to talk to Blanchard.

xxxxx

She had only seen Jason get upset like this over one other person, and that was his bastard of a father. Whoever this man was, he was obviously significant in Jason's life. And he wasn't telling her shit. As she observed the hard look in Jason's eyes, she realized for the first time just how much he'd changed.

His interrogation further showed the differences. Though she knew him well enough to know how much he was hating this, he was able to shut off his compassion for long enough to get the answers they needed. Before he started, he looked toward Charlie, silently asking her to leave. She refused. In fact, she found herself observing the interrogation closely. Not just keeping an eye on things, but seeing what Jason was doing to pull answers from the man. It wasn't pretty, but his methods—the Patriot's methods—certainly seemed effective. She made a mental note of the shallow cuts, the sensitive spots that were targeted, the calm, almost tranquil nature Jason delivered each stroke of the knife.

One glance at Connor showed that the boy wasn't faring quite as well. He looked a bit green at the sight of the torture. Maybe he should have been the one to leave.

By the time Jason was satisfied he now knew everything his former mentor did, the man was unconscious. Still breathing, barely, but unconscious. Jason and Charlie quietly conferred, agreeing to keep him alive until Miles and Monroe got back.

Jason started cleaning up after his mess while Charlie went about making sure they were set to leave as soon as Miles and Bass returned. It didn't take long; fortunately they didn't either.

Miles quirked an eyebrow at the sight before him. Connor had let them in, looking a bit peaky. He saw why immediately—in one corner of the room was something that looked like it might be a man underneath all that blood. Beside him, Jason was finishing off cleaning his knife. He acknowledged Miles with a nod of his head. Charlie was on the other side of the room, packing the last of her things.

"What'd we miss?" Miles seemed almost impressed, though he would never admit that.

After Monroe saw Connor's pale look and the sight before him, his eyes immediately sought Charlie. Unlike Connor, she seemed unaffected by the bloody mess before her. In fact, her attention seemed to be focused more on Jason, her expression contemplative.

First she says they're all going to die, now she doesn't blink twice at a brutal interrogation. Hell, Connor had been raised by a cartel boss and he was struggling with it. How far gone was she already? Feeling his gaze on her, Charlie looked toward Monroe before smiling softly, assuring him she was ok.

They spent most of the walk into town snarking and bitching at each other, but the second things got tough, it all went away. His top priority would be ensuring her safety—pushing her buttons would remain a close second. He knew without asking that the same was true for her. So long as they were on the same side, any issues between them would be put aside until they saved their necks.

Jason filled Miles in on what he learned from the interrogation before handing the knife back. Miles looked at it for a second, and the bloody man before them, and refused the knife.

"Keep it." Jason slipped it into the sheath at his waist.

Monroe looked hesitant at the thought of the Neville boy being armed, but he kept his mouth shut. Charlie looked almost pleased with the turn of events. He didn't want to take that away from her.

Miles and Monroe conferred quietly about what to do with their new captive, while Jason worked quietly on the other side of the room, ensuring the gun he found (Charlie's, it turned out) was loaded and in good working condition. His hands trembled slightly as he assembled the piece.

Charlie crept over to his corner of the room. She placed her steady hand over his trembling ones.

"Hey. What that guy was saying—it's not true. You're not just some weapon." She tilted her head to the side in a way he'd always found endearing as she gazed up at him. "I'd like to think I know better than most."

Jason looked into her eyes deeply, trying to see the truth in her words. It wasn't hard to find. She kept his gaze, smiling lightly. She squeezed his hand before dropping it and leaning back against the wall. When she looked back up at Jason, he seemed more assured of himself. Gone was the shakiness of his hand. He passed the gun back to Charlie and grabbed his jacket.

They were ready to move out.

xxxxx

The plan was simple—try to locate any Willoughby kids. Of course, the Monroe pair wouldn't recognize more than a handful of the cadets, and even Miles and Charlie weren't all that familiar with the entire camp. Jason was probably their best bet at finishing this before the Patriots got to Carver. Even with how helpful he'd been so far this trip, Monroe still felt some unease with the plan. Sure he'd paid off back at the apartment, but letting him loose in a crowd seemed too big a risk. But with great risks come great rewards, so it was a gamble they'd have to take.

Of course luck was nowhere near their side. The Patriots weren't just looking to take someone out today, they were looking to make a statement. Maybe this was what Texas would get instead of a goddamned ICBM. Monroe almost wished they'd gone this route with the Republic; being dead seems a lot less draining than the Patriots' designated scapegoat.

The group split up in the crowd and started to canvas. They each swept up and down, trying to keep each other in sight at all times. It didn't take long for that part to fail—less than two minutes into Carver's speech and they were each on their own.

If that weren't bad enough, a Ranger spotted and recognized Monroe. Though he preferred straight-out brawls, covert was the way to go right now. He head-butted the ranger, disguising the movement and tried to dump him as inconspicuously as possible. He looked around, but couldn't see any of his group—or anyone who looked like a Willoughby kid. He could only hope the rest were having a better time of it.

xxxxx

Jason knew he was the best bet at recognizing anyone, so he kept his eyes peeled. He also tried to keep tabs on the rest—he quickly realized that would be impossible, so instead settled for keeping Charlie within his sights.

Unfortunately, that was easier said than done. Charlie had slipped from his sight almost as soon as they entered the crowd, and his usual ability to spot her miles away appeared to be failing him. The best way to keep Charlie safe was to take out the Patriots who were gunning for her. He kept his focus on that as he scanned the crowd.

Suddenly, there were hands on him, grabbing him, keeping him still.

"Hang on! Where you goin', Jason?"

xxxxx

Author's Note: I hope I'm not being too evil leaving it there. The next bit was REALLY tough to write, and I think I want it to be in a chapter on its own—I might change my mind, but if not, the next chapter will likely be a short (but intense!) one.

Second—I've been having a bit of a tough week and I have to say all the positivity from commenters has been so much more of a help than I ever could have anticipated. Thanks so much for your comments on both the story and the drama that is the Revolution schedule/renewal limbo/etc. Glad to know I'm in good company on the whole BEING DRIVEN INSANE BY NBC front.

So feel free to keep commenting, please keep reading, and above all else, let's PLEASE keep writing/tweeting/tumbling/doing whatever to keep the fandom active during this torturous hiatus!


	11. Chapter 11

Of course she was with the Patriots. 19 Arnell St. The cadets weren't just being told to go there, they were being told to report there. To her. He should have seen it earlier. But now they were here and he was trapped and they were reaching for his eyelid…

"42474."

And Jason was gone.

.

.

.

.

.

But something remained. It was hidden, staying in the shadows but always fighting. They thought they broke him. Perhaps they really had. He told them everything. He told them about his father; not just his schemes but his attitudes and beliefs. He told them how he was never good enough for the man. He told them things he had never admitted, except to himself and—no. That stayed blank.

Even trapped in the recesses of his own mind, he protected her. He gave them everything, but he never gave them _her_.

.

.

.

"Who are you here with?"

"Miles Matheson and Sebastian Monroe." That wasn't all. There were others. One was inconsequential. The other was blank. No face, no name. Nothing to hold on to—it was being hidden from the Patriot.

"Alright. You're going to be our backu—no. You don't have California papers. We're going to nip this Monroe problem in the bud. Are you armed?"

"Yes. Matheson gave me a knife."

"His mistake, then. Good. You are going to get to Sebastian Monroe and kill him. Right now."

A task, a mission. A single purpose, the only thing that mattered. He would find Monroe. He would kill him. Nothing else held any consequence. Everything else, even those things he couldn't quite grasp on to, were pushed to the side.

Once more, Jason entered the crowd. Find Monroe. His eyes scanned. He saw the inconsequential one. He saw Miles Matheson. His eyes passed over long blonde hair. No sight of Monroe. He made another pass. The others were all looking. Trying to find the wolf in sheep's clothing, hiding in plain sight. Not realizing that they, too, were being hunted by someone they couldn't properly see.

A flash of light brown curls. There. Monroe spotted. Jason moved toward him, reaching for his knife. There was commotion on the stage- a boy had reached for his gun. Someone shot him. Not Monroe, so probably Miles. That didn't matter. Monroe's shoulders were relaxed as he saw the boy fall. His guard was down. Jason drew closer.

xxxxx

Charlie heard the gunshot. Saw the boy, Dillon, go down. Shock on his face, mirrored by those around him. His gun was still pointing toward Carver, but he looked too surprised to actually use it. Scanning the area, Charlie saw Miles. She saw his gun smoking, but more importantly she saw the look in his eyes. Remorse. Guilt. He was having difficulty separating the Patriot from the child. She moved toward him, trying to get him out in a hurry. As she moved, she looked around for the others.

There was Connor, moving with the crowd away from the stage. He knew to meet them at the rendezvous point. He would be fine. She saw Bass, his back to her. He was relaxed, getting ready to make his own egress. She saw the jacket and jeans approaching him from behind. She saw the glint of the knife in his hand. She knew what was happening, and did not hesitate.

"Bass!" She yelled, running toward him while simultaneously reaching for the gun tucked in the back of her pants.

Monroe whipped around, catching sight of the man with the knife just as he was about to bear down on him. Monroe ducked out of the way just in time, reaching for his own weapon. He knew he would be too late, the younger man was too close.

Jacket and jeans was still on top of Monroe, about to kill him. She was close enough, had a clear shot.

Bam. One clean shot to the head and the threat was gone. A light smirk graced Charlie's face as she approached, ready to boast about her second save in a row. Monroe really did owe her now.

But something was wrong. The shocked look on his face didn't fit. He had been closer to death than this and it hadn't fazed him. It didn't explain his shock, horror, apprehension… Guilt?

As Charlie got close enough, intending to help him up, she caught sight of the man who had been attacking Monroe for the first time. In her head, he was jacket and jeans. He was an 'it'. Something trying to take someone from her. But it wasn't a jacket and jeans. It wasn't an 'it'. It was a 'him'. It was a him she knew. It was Jason. It was Jason. It was Jason.

Soundlessly, she mouthed those words over and over as the realization hit her. It was Jason.

Monroe had scrambled up on his own. He was moving toward her, reaching out, looking intently at her, saying something, shouting something. But it was Jason.

"Charlie! We need to move!"

Blankly she looked back at him. Move? Why would they move? Jason was here. Why wouldn't they stay here?

She faintly heard the apology. She acutely felt the slap.

Jason. Dead on the ground. Gun still in her hand. Monroe in front of her. His hand still raised. Her cheek still stinging. Awareness filled her eyes for the first time.

"We need to go." Charlie nodded, shocked.

As Monroe started to pull her toward the rendezvous point, she tugged back.

"Wait." It was barely a whisper. They didn't have time for this, they both knew it, but she couldn't not. They both knew it.

She passed Monroe her gun and knelt down beside her former lover. Bass would watch her back, she knew without even looking back at him. The blood that had pooled out of Jason's head soaked into her pants at the knees, down her shins. His hand was still warm as she pried the knife from it.

She didn't waste time on apologies or last goodbyes. He was already gone. Mechanically, as though she weren't controlling her own actions, she reached inside her boot for the switchblade Mac had given her. Flicking it open, she reached beneath Jason to turn up the hem of his jacket. She struggled with his weight. Blood stained her hands, flecked lightly onto her arms and torso as she got to the task at hand.

When they had travelled together, she had seen Jason finish sewing something into his jacket. He never said what it was specifically, but admitted this was his way of safeguarding keepsakes. She could see a section where the seam had been ripped and re-sewn. She cut into it with her blade.

At first she thought it was empty—what a waste. But then she just barely caught sight of a piece of paper. Reaching inside, she found two. One was a picture of a woman—that must be Julia Neville. They'd never met, and Miles never spoke particularly highly of her, but she knew Jason loved her. The second was just a scrap of paper, didn't even seem worth keeping. On it in a beautiful flowing script were three words. "Follow the girl." He told her once, in between recovering in Atlanta and hopping on a helicopter, that finding her wasn't the last order he followed. But it was the first and last one that mattered. She had kissed him then, reveling in the still-new feeling, and thought that she could never find someone who loved her as wholly as he did.

Looking at this scrap of paper, she knew she had been right. She would never be loved like she had been by Jason. Never again.

xxxxx

Author's Note:

Really short, I know, but I wanted it to stand alone. We'll get to the ramifications soon.

Apologies for diverging so much from canon—when this story first popped into my head, this scene was the first thing I knew would be in it. I changed some of it around to mesh with ACL, but I wanted to keep it more or less how I had originally envisioned it. Either way, RIP Jason!

Can't say when the next chapter will be up, but I'm hoping to have it ready some time later this week.

Also, I'm thinking Scanlon needs a first name. IMDB was no help on that front. Any suggestions?


	12. Chapter 12

They had initially left the training officer alive. He was bound and gagged, but if something went wrong they wanted to be able to try to use him somehow.

Charlie would say things had certainly gone wrong.

Bass didn't want to make the pit stop—there was no use going out of their way to kill him, the Patriots would already figure out who had thwarted them, and he seriously doubted there was any more information they could get—not after what the Neville boy put him through.

The Neville boy. Monroe knew that was the real reason Charlie wanted to go back. He put up an argument, told her they needed to get back to Miles or he'd think something had gone wrong. She countered with logical arguments, but she was just going through the motions. She was going whether he approved or not, so he might as well tag along. Watch her back. Miles would want him to, so he would. That was why he absolutely had to make sure she survived this.

He still hadn't convinced himself.

xxxxx

When they got back to 19 Arnell St. the area was empty. Walking through the storefront, Monroe spotted a belt with a sheath that looked like it would fit Jason's blade. Charlie hadn't thought to grab the original, so he grabbed it, knowing she would want to keep the knife.

The man had woken up by the time they returned. It looked like he had been busy—the ropes around his wrists were pulled completely taut, and the floor beneath the chair was covered in splinters from where they had scraped against each other. Charlie walked up in front of him, still holding the knife. The man's eyes followed the shining metal.

"Think he knows anything else worth knowing?" Charlie looked the man dead in the eye even as she was addressing Monroe.

Bass leaned back against the wall after he closed the door, avoiding the grenades beneath the floor the whole time.

"You already know I don't." He reached for his sword, intending to finish the job properly. Before he could draw his blade, Charlie leaned in toward the prisoner, crouching down to look him dead in the eye. Monroe paused, waiting to see what would come next.

She spoke softly, calmly. It almost sounded kind, if not for the words themselves.

"You think you knew him. You think he was just your broken little soldier boy." Slowly she slid Jason's knife into the man's gut as his eyes widened in shock and pain. "You have no fucking clue what you've been messing with."

The gag muffled the man's sputtering cough, but Charlie seemed satisfied. She stood as she pulled her blade out, ignoring the blood that spurted onto her. What was more at this point?

She turned to leave, but Bass grabbed her arm before she could reach the door. Gently, he pulled her to face him.

His eyes were intent upon her. He searched, pleading, hoping against hope that she wasn't—gone. That she wasn't him. He brushed her hair back to better see her face. Her eyes met his and he saw the despair lying in their depths.

It wasn't pleasant, but he could not have been more relieved. Despair wasn't easy, but it was something. It wasn't the nothingness; that was what he truly dreaded.

Uncomfortable under his scrutiny, Charlie pulled away after a moment.

"Let's get to the others."

Wordlessly, Bass followed her out the door.

.

.

When they got back downstairs, the proprietor had returned and was pilfering through something in back. Charlie grabbed some jerky, stuffing it in her pockets while Bass headed for the door. She knocked the platter to the floor in her haste, which was enough to get the attention of the woman in back. She entered as Charlie was crouched down in front of the counter to grab a few last strips of food.

"You!" The woman shouted, and they both heard the click of her pumping the shotgun.

"Sebastian Monroe, you have been nothing but a nuisance to this great country." She hadn't seen Charlie ducked down in the front of the shop.

"When Patriot High Command hears I was the one to take you down, there'll be one hell of a promotion waiting for me. Who knows, maybe I'll get a parade."

She was a Patriot. She was at the rally. Charlie doesn't need any help realizing that two and two make four. This is the bitch who triggered Jason. This is the bitch who's going to suffer.

The second Charlie heard the initial pump of the shotgun, she was on the move. While the Patriot bitch talked, Charlie crept around the counter, around one of the many tables in back, to approach the woman from behind.

Before the woman could properly aim the shotgun, Charlie had stood up, grabbed another gun from a nearby shelf and whacked the woman upside the head with it.

Monroe quickly moved toward them, once again reaching for his sword. When he was close enough, Charlie placed her hand over his and shook her head.

"Seriously? I thought we'd gotten past the no-killing thing."

Charlie rolled her eyes at him before getting to work. She located some rope and looped it around her arm. They would have to wait until they were out of the city to tie the woman up. She grabbed a couple other items that could be useful, stashing them along her belt and in her jacket pockets.

"We'll get more out of her alive. She's unconscious and bleeding. Probably just another person injured at the rally. Lucky for her we're such good Samaritans to help her get out of there. Now are you going to help me or do I have to drag her myself?"

A glint of anger appears in her otherwise empty eyes, and Monroe doesn't know whether to laugh or cry.

He'd often wondered what Miles saw when he looked at him; after his family died, or Shelly; after rebels tried to kill his best friend and brother.

Now he knew, and he wished to God he didn't.

Knowing there was nothing else he could do at the moment—God, he had to talk to Miles right the fuck now—he helped. He and Charlie each took an arm and wrapped it around their shoulders, then headed for the rendezvous point.

xxxxx

They do not talk on the way back to the rendezvous point. There is so much he wants to say—he is sorry about Jason; not that he was dead so much but sorry that she had to kill him. He is grateful to her for saving his life once again, but he can never say that. They never thank each other for that. He wants to admit his own culpability in the situation, but this is something he can never admit.

He hadn't wanted Jason to come, hadn't wanted him to be armed, hadn't wanted him anywhere near them. But he kept silent and he couldn't properly explain why. Not to himself, and certainly not to Charlie. Not without ending up with Jason's knife plunged into him at least. He suppressed that line of thought and hitched the Patriot woman up slightly to stop her legs from dragging so much.

They made it back to the rendezvous without incident to find an anxious Miles and Connor waiting for them.

"What the hell, Bass, I thought you were right behind us!"

Bass indicated the woman he and Charlie carried between them.

"Kid wanted a souvenir."

Connor stepped forward, brow furrowed. "The lady from the shop?"

Charlie responded before Bass could. "The Patriot from the shop."

Just then, the woman started to rouse. Charlie forcefully wrenched her from Monroe's grip and threw her down on the ground. Before she could fully awaken, Charlie was straddling her chest and pinning the older woman's arms with her knees. She covered the woman's nose with one hand and grabbed some pliers from her belt with her other hand. The woman opened her mouth slightly to breathe, and Charlie used the movement to fully wrench her mouth open.

She forced the pliers in the woman's mouth and started on one of her back teeth, unmoved by the woman's growls and cries. Two upper back teeth, two lower back teeth, now lying bloody on the ground. Blood was pouring from the woman's mouth and bruises would soon be visible.

Miles was frozen in place, watching in shock.

"Charlie… What…"

Charlie stood, tossing the pliers down out of the woman's reach.

"Wasn't sure if she'd have one of those cyanide teeth."

As she started binding the Patriot with the rope she'd found, Miles turned to Monroe, eyes wide.

Bass stared back, worry clouding his features. He shook his head at Miles, not knowing what to say.

Connor was the one to point out the obvious.

"Hey, Charlie, where's your boy-toy?"

Bass' eyes closed abruptly and Charlie froze in the middle of tying a knot. Her spine stiffened and in that moment Miles knew. Jason was dead. But what came out of her mouth next he never in his worst nightmares could have imagined.

"I killed him. So unless you want to be next, you should keep your fucking mouth shut."

She finished tying the Patriot woman up and rose.

"Let's get back to the others. We'll interrogate her when we're back at camp."

Miles hadn't said a word yet. He couldn't think of the words, the right ones, the ones he needed to say. He had seen Charlie go through more than anyone should have to. So many loved ones dying right before her, and she fought through it all. She struggled, let it chip away at her soul little by little, but she remained more or less intact. This? This robbed her of an innocence she would never get back.

Miles still felt tarnished from taking that young boy's life earlier, but this? Charlie's legs, torso, hands, face, hair; all over she was stained in blood. It was starting to seep into her soul as well.

What the hell had they done?

xxxxx

As they made their way to the group they had left as backup, Miles got Bass separate enough for the latter to explain what happened. He told Miles about Jason coming after him, how Charlie hadn't hesitated to shoot. That she hadn't recognized him until later.

He paused before continuing—he told Miles of his niece's ruthless manner with the man who trained Jason, and that it was her decision to take the Patriot woman hostage.

When he finished, Miles looked even more tortured than before.

"We shouldn't have brought Jason—dammit, what the hell was I—"

Bass interrupted "Miles. It wasn't your call, we all agreed to it. But that's not all. I don't think it was just shooting the kid. She's been headed here for a while."

He gave an abbreviated recount of their conversation—he kept the reason for their discussion to himself, but told Miles about Charlie's fatalist attitude. To his surprise, Miles looked disappointed but not overly shocked.

"Rachel told me the same thing. She's convinced this won't go our way, but… She's still determined to fight."

Bass stared back at him, shocked.

"What the hell Miles, you knew and you didn't say anything to her? How long were you gonna let this go?"

"What the hell am I supposed to do, Bass?!" Miles' desperation caused him to forget any and all volume control. He didn't want to think of Charlie going through any of this. He didn't want to think of what it might do to her. Connor and Charlie heard the exclamation and stopped, turning to face Miles. The prisoner remained between the two youths.

From the looks on both men's faces, Charlie could tell they were most likely talking about her. Poor Charlie, she had to kill someone she loved. Poor Charlie's too weak to fight, shouldn't have to see the big bad things in the world. Well, too fucking late.

"If you haven't forgotten, the whole damn country is crawling with these Patriot bastards. Pipe down or get shot, it's your call." With that, Charlie tugged the prisoner (and by extension, Connor) forward along the trail.

Miles hung his head for a moment before continuing on.

"She's still fighting. This will be a setback, but she'll get through it."

Monroe was having none of it. With attention to his volume level, he continued at a hiss.

"Have you even been paying any attention to her lately? She's been dead on her feet since the Neville kid came to camp, and she's been spiraling for a lot longer than that. Have you really been so wrapped up in Rachel that—"

"Dammit, Bass, leave her out of it!"

Miles was fed up with the conversation, as was Charlie. She couldn't tell exactly what they were saying, but the fact that they were saying it at all was getting under her skin.

"That's enough, both of you. Miles, you and Connor watch the prisoner. Monroe, watch our six. I'm going ahead to scout and I don't want to hear a goddamn thing from any of you."

Maybe Bass had a point, because that wasn't Miles' niece talking; that was a military commander. Hell, that easily could have been Miles talking.

xxxxx

In that formation, they made their way to the backup group. Charlie arrived about five minutes before the rest, informed the men they would be leaving shortly, and started prepping the wagon for the prisoner.

She was methodical. She checked to make sure there was absolutely nothing that could be used as a weapon or instrument to free herself in the vicinity. She checked spots on the wagon where the Patriot could be chained up, finding the strongest ones. She tracked down chains and rope, not wanting to take any chances. She was careful. Thorough. Almost mechanical. Completely focused, trying to shut out everything else.

She didn't know how else to get past each minute. How to stop seeing him in his own blood on the ground, with her spot-on headshot marring his handsome face.

She supposed she could be proud of how good the shot was. He had been mostly facing away from her, but she managed to get it right above his eye. The one holding the tattoo, she remembered. Maybe that was poetic? Aaron hadn't taught them much about poetry or literature, so she couldn't really say.

She could think about how she still had his blood on her hands. And her clothes. Everywhere, really. But there was nowhere to clean up.

Everyone had seen it. Probably no use even trying to clean herself up at this point. Though it was all starting to feel uncomfortable. Itchy? Something. She started rubbing at it, but it wasn't coming off. Why wouldn't it come off?

Her breathing started to escalate, and just then Mac was there with a canteen and a washcloth.

"You're a bit of a mess there, lass. Your group are just rounding the corner now. It'll be a bit longer, so take a moment or two." He spoke softly but firmly, reassuring her.

Charlie nodded absently, and hopped off the wagon to find some more private area. She paused as Mac started to move away.

"Wait." She reached into her boot and grabbed the switchblade, handing it back to him.

"Thanks, but I think this luck was only meant for you."

She strode off to wash the blood from her skin.

xxxxx

Author's Note: I am so floored by the positive comments the last chapter received! I'm glad people seem to like it—I wasn't sure about abandoning canon like that, but I'm really glad I did now.

"Just" a week and a half left till the new episode!


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